


Gnome Such Thing

by 9Tiptoes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Hurt Dean Winchester, Monster of the Week, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9Tiptoes/pseuds/9Tiptoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam…I don't know what he ate or how much. He just complained that it tasted bad and fell over."</p>
<p>After a case of mistaken identity, Dean finds himself on a 'trip' down the craziest yellow brick road ever. Prequel of sorts to WWWS & Baby. Set Season3</p>
<p>
  <a href="http://s688.photobucket.com/albums/vv246/9Tiptoes/fic%20art/?action=view&current=gnomes1.jpg"></a>
  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Originally written in January 2011, this started out as a One-shot, but by the time it had reached 4,000 and I was no where near done, I decided I'd better divide it up. I'm long winded, what can I say? This is a prequel of sorts to my WWWS & Baby stories. What happens in this fic is directly referenced in Baby. It doesn't mean you need to read the other two, but I'd love for you to, if you haven't already.
> 
> Disclaimer: They're obviously not mine. If they were mine, they would have behaved themselves two weeks ago when I started working on this fic.

_**Gnome Such Thing**_  
Bobby Singer thundered down the stairs, checking the rounds in his Army issue, Colt Peacemaker and slapping the loading gate shut when he was satisfied that the chambers were properly loaded.

Whoever had the balls to come pounding on his front door at three in the morning, had a surprise waiting for him.

He tucked his robe securely around his waist and drew his gun ready, flicked the lock and yanked open the door.

"What do you want?" he growled.

The figure standing in the doorway was shrouded in shadow, leaning heavily against the frame of the door, looking foreboding. Bobby leveled the revolver at the unexpected visitor.

"Good to see you too, Bobby."

The older hunter fumbled for the light switch, flicking it on and flooding the dark entryway with blinding light.

"Dean?"

The foreboding stance provided by the darkness, faded into Dean Winchester's familiar cocky stance, wearing a self-assured smile that Bobby recognized as the one that always got the boy whatever he wanted. But not tonight…not if Bobby had anything to say about it.

"Dammit, Boy! I about blew your fool head off. What the Hell are you doin' pounding on my door at three am? And where's your damn key?"

"Sam's got it," Dean answered matter-of-factly, thumbing over his shoulder to where Sam was trudging tiredly up the front steps beneath the weight of both his and Dean's gear.

"Thanks for the help, Jerk."

He shoved Dean's duffel firmly into his older brother's gut, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips when the hit earned him a pained 'oomph' from Dean.

"Sorry, Bobby. I told him not to wake you up."

"Well, I'm up now, so you might as well come in. I can put a pot of coffee on."

"Thanks, Bobby, but none for me. I'm tired. Going upstairs for some shuteye. "

Sam put a warm hand on his friend's shoulder and scooted passed him through the doorway. He hitched his bag up on his shoulder and followed the short hallway around to the staircase, where he climbed toward his bed without even a 'Good night.'

"Everything alright?" Bobby directed at Dean, watching the confident demeanor slip before his eyes.

"Yea. Long day, long drive."

"That job go okay?"

Dean tried to hide the grimace, but Bobby caught the slight look as the young man tried to step around him and head for the kitchen. Bobby reached out and caught Dean at the elbow.

"Did the job go okay?" he repeated slowly.

A minute head shake and down cast eyes was all the answer he needed.

"Like I said, long day."

"Long day," Bobby mimicked. "Like I need a beer, long day? Or like I need a fifth, long day?"

"A fifth," Dean answered honestly, all his energy seemed to seep out of him.

"I haven't got one. I've got a beer," Bobby counter-offered, releasing Dean's arm with a comforting squeeze.

"Beer would be good." Dean followed him through the library toward the kitchen, dropping his duffel on the couch as he passed.

Bobby opened the short fridge and leaned into it, grabbing out a bottle for Dean and a half gallon of milk. He tossed the bottle to where Dean was leaning against the counter; the bottle landing perfectly in Dean's awaiting hand with no effort on Dean's part other than to close his fingers around the bottle.

Without having to be told, Dean reached over his shoulder into the cupboard and pulled down a glass, setting it on the counter beside him. Unscrewing the cap of the milk jug, Bobby poured himself three quarters of a glass.

"You hungry?" he asked Dean. No sooner was the question out of his mouth, than Bobby was shaking his head. Of course the boy was hungry. The boy was always hungry.

" _Maaaybeee_ " Dean responded slowly, drawing out the word; his eyebrow quirking high on his forehead, his mouth drawn up at one corner in a mischievous smile.

The young man was completely captivating as it was, not that Bobby thought of him like that, but when Dean lit up like he was now, Bobby found it was hard not to return the smile. It was followed immediately by a deep chuckle when Dean's eyes went wide with excitement.

"Oh! You know what sounds real good? Cereal! You got cereal, Bobby?"

Dean started poking around the kitchen looking for any sign of a cereal box. Bobby pointed to the cupboard where he kept dry goods. The cupboard had just a few frequently used necessities and Dean was quick to find the lone box of cereal available; Rice Kris pies.

He pulled the box free of the cupboard and grabbed a bowl, spoon and his beer, setting them down on the table and himself down in a chair; all with a loud bang.

Bobby joined him at the table. He picked up a discarded newspaper and sat back, watching Dean in amusement over the top of the paper. Bobby didn't object when Dean snatched his jug of milk to pour over his cereal. Spoon in one hand, bottle in the other, Dean started a back and forth motion. One heaping spoonful, slurp the milk first, then chase the bite with a thick swallow of Busch Light.

"Cereal and beer?"

" _Absolutely!_ " he grinned around a mouthful of the puffed rice, the snap, crackle, pop echoing inside his toothy smile. "Best meal ever. Almost as good as pie. Cereal was a freakin' commodity when we were kids. Between eighty-nine and ninety-three, I can count on one hand how many bowls of cereal I got. Always had to give my portion to Sammy. Damn kid. I'd make macaroni and he'd want Fruit Loops. I'd make Spagettios, he'd want Frosted Flakes. I should have invested in Kellogg a long time ago; the kid would have made me millions."

Bobby smiled fondly remembering the boys growing up. Even then, Dean was always looking out for his little brother. Fixing his meals, helping with homework and just plain ole taking care of Sam; more like a parent than a brother. And rarely a complaint to be heard, because it was what had to be done; Dean's responsibility.

But Sam was asleep, safe in his bed in the room that they shared at Bobby's. And with his lifelong responsibility lifted momentarily, the tension ran out of the older Winchester and Bobby found the grown man almost childlike in his enthusiasm over a bowl of cereal.

"This needs something," Dean murmured thoughtfully and the idea hit him.

He jumped up from the table, carrying his bowl with him and went back to the kitchen counter where a row of small canisters lined the back splash. One by one he lifted the lids until he found what he was looking for and then sprinkled a couple spoonfuls over the cereal, licking the extra off of the spoon.

Dean's eyes narrowed and he grimaced at the offending spoon, smacking his mouth around the bitter taste. Shrugging it off, he dipped the spoon back into his bowl. After three heaping bites, he was again frowning.

"Bobby, I think your sugar went bad."

"Sugar?"

Bobby's head popped up from behind the newspaper that he was reading. The paper rattled in his hands as he turned anxious eyes on the young man.

"What sugar? I don't _have_ any sugar."

Dean's eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. He bent a tentative look over the rim of the bowl. It looked like sugar. Except that now on further inspection, Dean noticed the matter wasn't melting like sugar did. It just sort of floated there, looking ominously back at Dean.

"I don't feel so good," was the weak response Bobby heard before he watched Dean sink to his knees and then splay out on his stomach across the kitchen floor.

"Dean!"

Bobby jumped from his seat, knocking the chair over to loudly bang on the linoleum. He crossed to his fallen friend and reached under the man, taking a hold of Dean's far arm. Carefully, Bobby edged him over onto his back, supporting his head when he laid him flat.

"Dean?"

Bobby's rough, calloused hand patted Dean firmly on the face, trying to rouse him.

"Wake up, Son. Dean, you in there? Sam!"

Bobby's voice echoed throughout the entire downstairs making his own ears ring. In the back of his mind he knew that prior to calling out for the younger Winchester, Bobby had already heard heavy feet hit the floor. Even now, as he was turning to look through the library, Sam was barreling down the stairs taking three at a time. He skidding around the corner, through the first room and slid across the linoleum on his knees, stopping just shy of bowling Bobby over.

"What happened?"

He didn't look up at Bobby. His panicked eyes were glued to his brother's still form. Sam leaned down and put his cheek to Dean's lips and watched his chest, looking and feeling for Dean's shallow breath. Dean was breathing. He was alive. Sam closed a fist and rested his middle knuckles on Dean's sternum and gave him a good, hard rub. Dean moaned in discomfort. Breathing and responsive to pain, both good signs.

Breathing a tentative sigh of relief, Sam sat back on his tucked feet, one hand to his own forehead in shock, the other resting on his brother's chest.

"What happened?" He repeated, finally looking at Bobby.

The older hunter had sunk down onto his butt and was swaying slightly, pale in his distress. Sam moved to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and this brought Bobby back into the present.

"It's…it's my fault," he stammered, still looking shocky. "I wasn't paying attention and he must have gotten into one of my spell work ingredients. Thought it was sugar and… _Hell,_ Sam…I don't know what he ate or how much. He just complained that it tasted bad and fell over."

"Where? Show me."

"Up there," Bobby pointed towards the kitchen counter.

Sam jumped up, going to the jars and began tearing off the lids. A dozen small jars in total, each with a different herb, root or crystal.

"What are all these? Wait, is this it?"

Sam rushed back to Bobby's side, thrusting a jar into his hands. Bobby dipped his fingers into the substance and frowned. He set the jar down and reached over Dean, knocked the overturned bowl away and scrambled for whatever might be left sitting in the milk.

"Yea, this is it. How in the Hell did he mistake this for sugar?"

"What is it?"

"Ground Psilocybin"

"Mushrooms?" Sam choked over a laugh. "Sorry, that's not funny. This is serious," he admonished himself. "How much did he eat?"

"I told you, I wasn't paying attention. He was sprinkling it over Rice Krispies."

"Oh," Sam's voice fell to a low worrying rumble, "Oh, that's not good. That's two tablespoons at least, maybe more. Let me think."

Bobby watched as Sam's eyes closed & his expression turned inwards while doing the math.

"One gram will last about six hours, give or take. There's…twelve and a half grams per tablespoon, times two, better make that three, just to be safe. God, Bobby, this could last for days."

" _If_ he survives."

"Oh, he'll survive. It'll be the nastiest trip of his life, but he'll survive…I think. _Why_ do you even _have_ mushrooms?"

Bobby was about to defend himself when all that Sam had just said sunk in. He turned to pin Sam with a curious look.

" _What?_ I went to college."

Bobby closed his eyes and shook his head, amused by Sam's admission.

"Do I even _want_ to know what else you got up to in college?"

"Probably not," Sam muttered, blushing.

"Well, we gotta get him someplace quiet and safe before he wakes up. We don't want all this commotion and…stuff making the inevitable hallucinations a thousand times worse than they could be… _yea, that's right_ …I was young once too."

Sam raised surrendering hands and tried to hide his grin, but received a playful punch in the arm anyway. Sam stepped over Dean so that there was a foot on either side of his prone brother. Taking Dean's wrists in his hands, he pulled the limp form into a sitting position.

Sam squatted down in front of Dean, threading one hand between his brother's legs and getting a good grip on Dean's inner thigh. With his other hand, Sam worked Dean's arms over his left shoulder and in one fluid motion, stood up, bringing all of Dean's weight with him.

He jostled the motionless Dean on his shoulder, working him into a safe, well-balanced position.

"Alright. Where to?"

"Your bedroom?" Bobby suggested.

Sam momentarily sagged beneath Dean's weight. Not because he was too much to carry, which he nearly was, but because Sam already knew that the stairs would be a daunting task with Dean carried fireman style over his shoulder. He took a deep breath to prepare himself.

"Okay, let's do this."

Five steps up the flight, Sam began to sweat.

"Christ, man. You gotta quit eatin' so much damn pie. You're heavier than you look."

"Quit screwin' around," Bobby instructed from behind.

He held a steadying hand against Sam's back, not that he'd be able to stop the domino effect once it got started and they continued up the flight to get Dean settled down into the boys' shared bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had been left, lying in an unnatural face-up position, arms and legs spread eagle across the entire length and width of the bed. Sam had flopped him unceremoniously onto the mattress and argued with Bobby when the older hunter had suggested making him a little more comfortable.

"Hell no. He brought this on _himself_ ," Sam had said, stretching his now aching lower back.

But although Sam had made no further move to help Dean, he also hadn't left his side in the four hours that Dean had been asleep. Bobby had gone down to his medicine cabinet, fished out a bottle of Valium and brought it back to Sam.

"One of these at a time, only when it gets real bad. They seem to help."

Sam gave a knowing smirk as Bobby left the room, closing the door behind him and returned to his own bedroom. He'd need all the sleep he could muster to deal with the inevitable fallout of Dean's accidental overdose.

But with the new day rising, Bobby had risen too. He made his way, quietly down the short hallway to the boys' room and carefully opened the door.

The early summer morning was bright, the air, crisp, but you wouldn't know it from inside the boys' room. The curtains and shades had been drawn, the door closed and the room was silent except for the deep in and out breaths of the two Winchester men.

Sam sat dozing in an olive green wingback chair that he'd stolen from Bobby's room; his bare feet kicked up on the corner of Dean's bed, hands lying still and folded across his flat belly.

Dean still lay face up, still spread eagle, but his eyes were open and a strange expression was stretched across his nearly motionless face. Nearly motionless, Bobby noted.

His eyes were moving. In slow lazy loops, Dean's eyes moved across the room, never blinking, but taking in everything.

Bobby edged closer to the first bed, Dean's bed, and very cautiously lowered himself down to the floor, sidling up next to the bed. He followed Dean's gaze upward toward the ceiling that Dean was studying in quiet awe and wondered what it was that the young man was seeing there.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Dean whispered, reverently.

Bobby wasn't sure if the question was directed at him or if Dean was even aware that Bobby was there until Dean turned his head slowly to look directly at the older hunter.

Bobby was unable to stop the recoil he experienced when getting his first real look at his oldest boy. Dean's eyes were swimming with uncontrolled emotion. He looked, if truth be told, more like his brother and it just didn't suit him. Whatsoever.

Bobby stretched a foot out down the length of the bed and careful not to startle either of them, cautiously nudged Sam's foot with his own. Sam was slow to rouse from his sleep. He stretched stiffly in the chair and groaned, blinking his eyes, slowly adjusting to the dim room. Then the realization hit him and he sat up quickly, looking first to Dean and then to Bobby sitting on the floor.

Bobby held a finger up to his lips, silencing the young man and then subtly pointed at the older brother. Dean was once again focused on the ceiling, his gaze swinging in a slow figure eight pattern.

"What's he doing?" Sam whispered.

"I don't know, but it's ' _beautiful_ '." Bobby jumped when Dean reached out to grasp his forearm firmly.

"It is beautiful, right? The most amazing thing I've ever seen. You think so too, right, Bobby?"

"Um, yea. I guess so," he agreed, playing along.

"What are you seeing?" Sam asked, carefully climbing up on the bed.

Bobby tried to warn him off, but Sam was already half way up Dean's side & easily within the stoned man's reach. Dean let go of Bobby's arm and zoomed in on his new target. He snatched Sam's wrist and yanked. Like a table with a missing leg, Sam toppled onto the bed, crashing shoulder to shoulder into his brother. But if Dean noticed, he didn't let on. He just continued to gaze in awe at the ceiling.

"Sammy. Sammy is my baby brother. I love my baby brother. Even when he's mad at me, like today. Why are you mad at me, Sammy?"

Dean turned his tear filled eyes on Sam and just like Bobby, Sam shrank back. But Dean didn't wait for Sam to answer; he just went back, again, to the ceiling. Sam tried to right himself, but his brother had yet to release his iron grip on Sam's wrist and instead pulled the younger Winchester closer, so they were nearly eye to eye.

"Lay with me, Sammy?"

Bobby tried and failed to cover the chuckle that escaped him and had to turn away completely when Sam gave him a bewildered 'help me' look. Bobby raised his hands, leaning away and chuckled again.

"You brought this on _yourself_ ," he jokingly threw back at the younger hunter.

"Sammy?"

Dean's grip on Sam's wrist seemed to wax and wane with his grip on reality as he had once again turned back toward the ceiling, reaching his left hand into the air. He waved it dreamily back and forth, wiggled his fingers & then sucked it back to his chest, falling into a fit of girly giggles.

"It tickles," he tittered. "Try it."

Very slowly, Sam pulled his arm free and turned his hips so that he was sitting on the mattress. Then he cautiously lowered his back down to lie beside his brother, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip & much to his dismay, hand in hand when again Dean sought out the lost connection with his brother.

On the floor, Bobby rocked back against the bed, slapping a hand over his mouth to stem the flow of laughter that was threatening to burst forth.

"You're not helping," Sam growled, hazarding a dark glare over his shoulder.

"I'm not tryin'," Bobby laughed.

Sam rolled his eyes and released a slow breath to regain his composure and a smidgeon of the patience he was _definitely_ gonna need to deal with the lovely situation Dean had gotten himself into.

"So…" Sam said softly, focusing his attention back on his brother. "What are we lookin' at?"

"Butterflies," Dean answered, sighing. "Hundreds and hundreds of butterflies. Isn't it _awwwesome_?" he said, stretching out the last syllable.

"Yea, Dean," Sam replied with a smile, "just awesome."


	3. Chapter 3

The butterflies had secrets; vast stores of knowledge and the keys to unlock every corner of the universe. And all of it they were willing to share with Dean, for which Dean was immensely grateful. He lay on his bed watching and listening intently as the multitude of winged insects danced in a rhythmic pulse. Butterflies of every size, shape & color. Hundreds of them, coating the walls and the ceilings, all of them speaking to him in a solitary voice.

' _The world sits in turmoil_ ,' they said.

Their ethereal voice, a monotone mix of masculine & feminine, buzzed just within the human range of hearing and Dean was immediately entranced by it. He nodded his understanding, because _he did_. Dean most certainly understood that the world was in turmoil. How to stop the turmoil was another question.

"What do you want me to do? He whispered back, waiting on bated breath for their reply."

"What are they saying?"

Dean's attention swung suddenly to his right where he was met nose to nose by his brother. Having forgotten that Sam was lying beside him, Dean was now caught by the flecks of gold that shimmered in the corners of Sam's hazel eyes. They danced and chimed like perfectly tuned bells and Dean was struck with the realization that he, himself was amazing. He _must_ be amazing to have a brother whose eyes chimed. There could be no other explanation for it. Dean was just _that_ cool. _'This would look great on a resume'_ , he thought. ' _Can kill just about anything and has a brother whose eyes chime_ '. He smiled at his turn of good luck.

"Dean?"

Still clutching Sam's hand, Dean raised his own hand and brought it to Sam's lips to silence his younger brother.

"You're awesome, he said in the same hushed tone he'd used on the ceiling, but you have to keep quiet Sammy. They're about to tell me their secrets."

"The butterflies?"

Dean nodded his head and returned his devoted attention back to the all-knowing insects and was rewarded for his dedication. A soft hum of their wings beat a cool breeze across his skin, eliciting goose bumps up his neck and into his hairline and he closed his eyes, relishing the feeling; soaking in their words.

And he knew that he was truly blessed when a moment later the flutters of their collective wings drew out tiny bursts of light. Pure and golden, the light sparked and rained down each time a wing flickered and soon Dean was watching a cascade of golden sparks falling gently all around and over him.

Like cool water on warm skin, the sensation was overwhelming and Dean gasped, arching up off the mattress, begging for more.

Sam could only stare in quiet shock and wonder if this was the beginning, what else did they have to look forward to?

* * *

Sam entered the kitchen, rubbing an exhausted hand up and down his face and then raking his long fingers up into his hair. He looked up to find Bobby standing there, hand out stretched, offering him a cup of coffee with a side of concern.

"Well?"

Sam took the coffee and shook his head. Where did he even start?

"He's been set three tasks, came his stoic answer. He took a sip, watching for Bobby's reaction over the rim of his cup."

"Pardon?"

"Dean is _meditating_ and tells me that he, ' _has been set three tasks'_. Who even says crap like that? Not Dean!"

"Did you say meditating?"

Once again, Bobby found himself trying his best not to laugh.

Bobby, Sam frowned in a slight warning.

"Look, Kid. I can't help it. This is just…funny. If it had been the other way around and that was you up there, you gotta know that he'd be laughing his ass off."

"Yea, I know. But it's not me, it's Dean. And this is just one more thing, on top of everything else, that I just don't feel like dealing with right now."

"Who says you gotta deal with anything?"

Bobby thoroughly scanned Sam's face, taking in the lines pulled tight around his eyes and mouth; a true indication of Sam's stress. He offered up a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"Hey, he's not hurting himself and it looks like he's not in any danger…for the time being. So, let's just let this situation play out, okay? Take it for what it is. The best and longest trip of his life. Hell, I'm tempted to ante up and join him."

Sam's head fell to the side in his classic, bitchy tilt and Bobby immediately felt the heat of Sam's disapproval.

"I said I was tempted. Didn't say I was gonna do it. Geez, Sam, relax a little, would ya? Maybe you oughta give in to a little temptation yourself. Might take the starch outta that damn collar of yours."

"Are you saying I'm uptight?"

The question was said without heat. In fact, Bobby was sure he'd even heard a lilt of amusement in Sam's voice. He clapped the boy roughly on the cheek and smiled fully at him.

"As uptight as they get, Son."

* * *

"It's hot in here."

Dean peaked out from beneath his closed eyes and glanced around the room, hunting for the source of the heat he was experiencing from his position on the floor.

Earlier, while completely oblivious to Sam's look of disbelief, Dean had managed to convince Sam to push the beds apart for him so that he could meditate. He pulled the quilt off of his bed and shook it out across the center of the floor, pausing briefly to ' _ooo_ ' and ' _ahh_ ' over the ripples of color coming off the quilt, splashing like waves around the room. Then Dean had taken up residence in the center of the well-worn blanket and gathered his legs in front of him, to adopt the lotus position.

Sam had stood gob smacked, watching what should have been a near impossibility for Dean as he pulled first one booted foot up into his lap & then the other.

"What the Hell?" Sam had breathed more to himself than to Dean. Shaking his head, Sam had raised his hands in surrender. "Good luck with that," he'd said, turning to leave.

"Thank you, Sammy. The butterflies say that luck is on my side today."

Sam closed the door before huffing a laugh, "The butterflies are full of crap, Dude."

An hour later and Dean was still seated on the floor, but his meditation had been broken by wave after wave of heat that he soon discovered was rolling off of the lone candle in front of him.

He leaned closer, rolling up onto his knees and unknotting his legs from their meditative position. Cautiously, Dean crawled toward the candle, ducking and dodging the waves of heat as they rolled out of the small flame.

Bringing his hand up to shield his face, he looked down into the dancing amber and was not surprised when whispers began to float toward him out of the heat. Dean strained to make out what the candle was trying to tell him.

"One with nature. Purify. Yes, okay," he nodded agreeably. His face was childlike and open, waiting to be given further instruction. Excited for more, Dean leaned closer toward the candle.

"Too close, _too_ close!" he shouted when suddenly the candle flared at him, sending a spray of heat and flame, whipping around the room like water from a fire hose.

Dean fell back on to his butt, scrambling away from the dangerous flame, but was unable to dodge it completely. It snaked up and around his leg; a searing chain wrapping tight around his calf and thigh, pulling him back toward the candle.

Grasping for purchase at the wooden floor planks, Dean bucked against the flame, hissing through clenched teeth as the fire consumed the fabric of his jeans. All the while in his head, the candle was chanting, ' _purify, purify, purify'_.

It wasn't until he felt the heat lick upwards towards his groin that true panic set in.

"Oh God! No, no, no, no."

Sitting upright, Dean began clawing and tearing at the denim, anything he could think of to put distance between himself and the scorching flame that was threatening his…his…everything.

With the combined efforts of his tearing and the candle's 'purifying', Dean's jeans soon laid in a smoldering heap on the floor. Using what little common sense was left in his addled brain, Dean stripped off his over shirt and tamped down the burning denim and was now left panting in the middle of the room in nothing but his customary black t-shirt, singed boxer briefs and lace up boots.

He wiped away the sweat on his brow and much more cautiously approached the candle again.

"Okay, I'm _purified_. What now?" he asked like it was just any other day. He watched and waited as the candle flickered. It swayed and dipped and sucked in the oxygen of Dean's question and pressed out its answer in a burst of orange.

Momentarily frightened by its sudden movement, Dean leaned away, but then he heard the whispers floating toward him once again.

"Guard the borders. _Corners_?"

The candle flickered one more time before extinguishing itself, a soft trail of grey smoke weaving its way to join the butterflies in nothingness.

"W-wait?" Dean stammered, but it was too late. The last ember on the wick, fizzled out and the whispers were gone.

"What does that _mean_?"

He slumped back down to the floor, crossing his bare legs and rested his chin in his cupped hands. For several minutes, Dean sat there in a near pout, shivering in his sweat damp underclothes.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw it. A quick movement; a dark, blur of a shadow, along the lower wall to his left. His hunter's instincts kicked in, overriding the fuzzy hallucinations plaguing his vision.

In a flash Dean was up on his feet, swaying only once as vertigo threatened to bring him back down to his knees. He used the nearest bed to steady himself and then made his way slowly around the outskirts of the mattress, prepared to pounce on whatever it was that he'd seen skitter along the wall.

"Ah ha!" he shouted, jumping out around the corner of the bed and then frowned down at the empty space.

"Where'd you go?"

Stilling his movements, Dean used his senses to search the room, letting only his eyes move in their sockets. He looked down the plane of his right cheek and held his breath.

It was there. Just outside of his field of vision. Still like a statue, yet constantly moving, watching him as intently as he was watching it.

It side stepped its way into view, just beyond the scope of Dean's full vision, but near enough that Dean could make out a few important details. Firstly it was short, humanlike in shape, but much too short to be human and robust for its small stature. When it moved, it did so in short side to side steps, creeping along the wall like some cartoon spy with its arms stretched out for balance.

Very slowly, Dean began to turn his head towards the little creature, but froze, wide eyed when the thing giggled at him.

It wasn't the high-pitched whimsical giggle Dean had hoped for. It was a low, guttural giggle. A frightening laugh that said, ' _Heh heh heh, yea, you look like lunch_.'

Dean glanced quickly around the room. _Where the Hell were all the weapons_? He had nothing at all to use. No guns, no knives, no nothing. Hell, right now, he'd give his left nut for a good solid stick.

It must have read his mind, because suddenly the feel of the room changed dramatically. The atmosphere darkened ominously and all the hair on Dean's neck stood up in preparation for the attack he knew was coming.

The tiny creature growled and from the corner of his eye, Dean saw it hop up and down a couple times before it charged him, eliciting a warrior's cry as it came.

Dean spun around and was shocked to see the miniature man, wobbling quickly across the room, looking strangely dangerous with his hands held up like claws and his bearded mouth snarling in anger. Dean snatched backwards behind him, coming up with a yellow flowered sheet from his bed. He flapped it open, holding it before him like a net and prepared himself for the impact from the creature's assault.

What he wasn't expecting was the strength and power behind the hit. Dean was knocked to the ground, fumbling for control over the little thing that was pounding on his upper body.

Even though he had it wrapped securely in the sheet, the creature did not give up on its attempt to get at Dean. It screamed and clawed and snarled wildly through the thin cotton, sinking a little fist into Dean's cheek and it's sharp teeth into Dean's forearm as Dean desperately tried to defend himself.

"Ow! You _little son of a bitch!_ I'm gonna kick your little eighteen inch ass!"

But no sooner were the words out, than Dean was regretting them. The little monster had torn his way through the cotton and was scrambling up Dean's prone torso towards his face, its claw-like fingers scratching at his shoulders and neck.

It snatched and grabbed at Dean, finally catching hold of Dean's lower lip and using it for leverage. It pulled itself up and used its surprisingly hefty weight to pin Dean's shoulders down to the floor and turn his face to the side.

Dean thrashed and yelled out in pain when tiny little nails bit into the meat of his earlobe.

 _"SAMMY!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget - good, bad or indifferent - leave me your thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

The door rattled on its hinges, when Sam and Bobby came barreling through it, sliding to a stop just over the threshold. There in the center of the floor, trapped in a tangle of sheets was Dean, struggling with all of his might to free himself. Or at least the two men assumed it was Dean. It was hard to tell since all that was visible was one arm and the booted foot of the opposite leg. The rest was ensnared inside a cotton cocoon of pale yellow roses.

"Dean?" Bobby called quietly at the mess of sheets.

All movement inside the sheets stilled and the two men observing were forced to summon all their will power not to burst into laughter; Sam actually slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the chuckles threatening to flow out.

"Bobby?" Dean answered back, sounding thoroughly surprised. "Oh, thank _God_. Bobby, you gotta help me."

Dean thrashed out again, trying to rid himself of the cotton binding.

"Calm down, Son. We're comin'.

Sam reached him first. He knelt down beside him and began peeling back the layers of sheeting that Dean had tightly wrapped around himself. Beneath Sam's warm hands, Dean stilled.

"Sammy?"

"Yea, Bud. We'll get you out, just hold still, alright?"

"Alright," Dean settled and then a second later he was agitated again, his voice almost childlike in his drug induced rambling, "Guard the corners, Sam. I can't see them. You gotta guard them for me."

Sam was finally able to pull the sheet loose from around Dean and pull it halfway down his torso. His brother's appearance had Sam sitting back in shock. He'd expected Dean to be a little disheveled, but he wasn't prepared for the blood. Sam threw a questioning glance over his shoulder at Bobby, who was leaning in closer to get a better look at the damage.

Dean's lip was swelling as they watched; torn and seeping blood down into his mouth and coating his lower teeth. There was also a faint smear of blood extending from Dean's ear & down his neck. And lastly was the darkening mark to the inside of his jaw. Whatever he'd managed to do to himself was gonna leave a bruise.

Dean glanced around the room nervously, searching out every corner, but when he felt the weight of Sam & Bobby's looks he lowered his head in a perfect rendition of a kicked puppy.

"I yelled for you," he nearly pouted.

"I heard you. I'm here, right? I got ya."

While Sam continued to unwind the sheet from around Dean, Bobby joined them on the floor.

"What happened here, Dean?"

Dean turned frightened big green eyes up at Bobby.

"It was the scariest thing I've ever seen. Claws and teeth and spit and a wild, wooly beard…"

"You just described Bobby on a Saturday night," Sam joked, pulling the last of the bed sheet away from Dean.

Very slowly, Bobby and Sam leaned away from Dean who was now exposed in his underclothes & boots.

Exasperated and afraid of the answer he'd get, Sam asked, "Uh, Dude? What happened to your clothes?"

Dean pointed to the pile resting on the floor and in a small, sheepish voice answered, "They melted?"

"They _melted_?" Sam repeated in disbelief.

"Kinda. The butterflies said…"

"Really? Dude, for the last time, the butterflies are full of crap."

Sam rolled his eyes, wondering what God they'd managed to piss off to get stuck in this situation where Dean was conversing with butterflies.

"No, Sam. They were _right_."

Dean rose to his knees and put on a determined front. His expression growing very serious; eyes wide in his belief.

"They told me I had to guard the borders and guard the corners and they were right. That little…whatever he was, snuck up on me from the border," he pointed toward the perimeter of the room and then raised his hand to nearly poke himself in the eye.

"I saw him from the corner of my eye. He was standing there just outta sight, watchin' me, waitin' for the right time to get me, but I saw him first."

"It's the mushrooms, Dean," Sam eased, calmly. "You're hallucinating…"

In his first and only lucid moment since downing a giant's portion of shrooms, Dean gave his brother a stern look and made a circular hand motion around his injured face.

"Does his _look_ like a hallucination? The friggin' thing attacked me. Could I maybe get a _little_ bit of sympathy?"

And just like that, the moment was gone. Dean's bravado faded back into worry and paranoia and he was again nervously watching the outskirts of the room.

"Just tell us exactly what you saw, Son," Bobby coaxed.

"Yea, okay," Dean nodded in understanding. He drew a deep breath for bravery and dove into his story. "He was about yay tall."

Dean held his hand just shy of two foot from the ground, demonstrating the creature's height. He went on to explain how a tiny, little Wildman had stalked him from the edge of the room, describing in vivid detail, all that he could remember. The razor sharp fingernails that first tore through the sheet like it was tissue paper and then ripped into his lip & ear lobe. The extraordinary strength it displayed for such a little thing. The stench of dirt and blood that was smeared over its hands, feet, face & overalls.

"Wait," Bobby interrupted. "Overalls?"

"Like straps over the shoulders, big front pocket, farmer in the dell-type overalls?" Sam added.

"And a pointed, dirty red hat," Dean nodded, using his hands to make a conical shape above his head.

Sam looked away from his brother, tilting his chin down into his chest, his shoulders and back shaking. Confused, Dean looked back and forth between Sam and Bobby, who was also carefully avoiding Dean's gaze.

"Are you…are you laughing at me?" he asked them.

In his current state, Dean at least managed to pull off an offended if not slightly bewildered tone.

Bobby cleared his throat and attempted to gain some composure.

" _Dean_?" he asked as seriously as possible, "Did you get attacked by a garden gnome?"

Sam was unable to suppress the lone guffaw that escaped him, quickly slapping both hands over his mouth.

"Do you think?"

Dean's eyes widened in shock, swallowing visibly.

"No, Dean. I think it was a hallucination. Sam, help me up."

Sam climbed to his feet. With a two handed hold, he pulled Bobby up off the floor and then offered his hand to Dean. Dean scowled at him but took the proffered hand and was yanked to his feet in one swift motion.

As soon as he was on his feet, he threw a glancing blow off Sam's shoulder.

"What was _that_ for?" Sam cried, smacking him back.

"For laughing at me, ya dick."

Bobby rolled his eyes at the two young men standing before him, each rubbing their own shoulder.

"If you two girls are done cat fighting?"

Bobby led the way out of the bedroom and down the staircase, but stopped when he realized that the two boys were still at the top of the stairs.

Dean stood, puzzled, trying to assess the staircase. He lifted his foot and attempted to take a step up. Sam caught him by the arm and saved him from what would have been a long and painful tumble down the stairs.

"We're going down," Sam offered.

" _I know_ ," Dean growled like it was the most absurd thing Sam could have said.

Sam let go of his brother's arm, raising his hands in surrender.

Dean scowled at Sam, his brows knitting together in a grimace. Then he focused his concentration on the stairs again. And again, he lifted his foot to step upward.

This time Sam had to wrap a long arm around Dean's chest and use his full weight to keep them from both going head over heels.

"Do I need to carry you piggy back down the stairs?"

"Would you?" Dean asked, looking hopeful.

" _No_."

Recognizing a tragic accident waiting to happen, Bobby got himself down and off the stairs quickly. Then he stood safely behind the banister and watched in amusement.

After struggling with each other through a few more failed attempts, Sam finally submitted to his own teasing suggestion. Dean draped his arms over Sam's shoulders, knotting his hands across Sam's chest.

Sam rolled his eyes before closing them, his cheeks burning flush with humiliation. He bent at the knees, accepting Dean's weight across his lower back.

"Seriously," he growled, bouncing to adjust and balance the extra mass.

Smiling up at the comical sight, Bobby couldn't help himself.

"Would you two idjits quit playing handsy and get down here already?"

"I swear to God, if I didn't need both hands for balance…"

"I got it," Dean offered, reading his little brother's mind. He released one hand clasped in front of Sam, to fly the bird at the older hunter below.

"What am I gonna do with you two?" Bobby laughed as the two boys slowly made their way down to the first floor.

Dean gave him a lopsided grin, while Sam raised a disgruntled eyebrow, frowning.

"While you two were messing, I got the computer fired up. Come have a look, Dean. Tell me if this is what you think you saw."

Dean bent over the desk, leaning much too close to the screen to have a look at the tiny image on the screen.

"He's smaller than I remember," Dean said sincerely.

Sam grabbed the mouse and clicked on the image. A larger image popped up and he watched as recognition lit in Dean's expression.

"Oh, that's better. Yep, that's the fugly little bastard."

Sam scrolled down the screen and began reading to himself, the mythology of the garden variety gnome.

Trying to read along, Dean swayed to the left slightly, his gaze floating up and to the right, off into upper regions of the room.

"Did you see that?" he whispered.

Bobby was watching him now, a slight smirk playing across his lips.

"Whatcha got there, Kid?"

"The words," Dean answered in awe, "just floatin' up off the screen."

He dodged another one and then followed a few more as they began to casually float and dance around the library. When he reached up to swipe at one, the breeze from his hand pushed it farther from his reach. Soon he was jumping up into the air trying to catch the floating words in a double handed grasp, like a child trying to catch lightning bugs.

"Come back here!" he squealed in delight, chasing after them in his lace up boots and navy blue boxer briefs.

Sam and Bobby gave each other sideways glances and then leaned back over the computer, relying on their rule that if he wasn't hurting himself, they'd let it play out.

"Are you sure about this, Bobby? The way he described it…it's scary close to what's in here."

"I'm sure. They're a _mythical_ mythical creature, Sam. Like Big Foot. There's absolutely no concrete proof of their existence."

"Try convincing _him_ of that."

Bobby looked up from the screen and then abruptly stood up completely.

"Where'd he go?"

Sam's head popped up to scan the room too.

"Dean?"

"He can't have gotten far," Bobby responded, trying to soothe the flare of alarm in both of them.

They spread out through all levels of the house, checking and rechecking each room, calling for Dean as they went. Sam pounded down the stairs nearly running into Bobby in the front hallway.

"Anything?" he asked.

Bobby shook his head, scratching absentmindedly at his beard.

"Where the Hell did he go?" panic was settling into Sam's voice.

"Outside?" Bobby suggested with a shrug.

They turned for the door, bumping shoulder to shoulder in the narrow hall, Sam finally submitting to Bobby's seniority. Stepping out on to the porch the two men pulled up, letting their senses and hunter's instincts search out the salvage yard.

The property was eerily quiet which did nothing to ease Sam's concerns.

"Did I just physically _lose_ my brother?"

"Maybe the gnomes got him," Bobby offered, his twisted sense of humor escaping at exactly the wrong time.

Sam spun on him, pointing an accusatory finger at the older hunter. "Bobby! You _said they weren't real!"_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Reminder this is set in Season 3, early summer, probably shortly after Sin City.

"Dean!"

Sam's gravelly tenor voice echoed throughout the car yard, bouncing off buildings and vehicles alike. It was followed shortly by Bobby's gruffer call.

Their voices were much closer this time and fearing that he was about to be discovered, Dean dropped down to his belly and army crawled beneath an old Ford Bronco rotting in the yard. He lay there silently, watching and listening as his brother and Bobby searched for him.

A moment later, Dean saw Bobby come around the corner of a long row of vehicles and Dean turned onto his back and then reached up and clung to the Bronco's underside. The older hunter was checking into and under each car and truck as he walked past but Dean knew, Bobby's knees just weren't what they used to be. He was an aging hunter, no matter how hard he tried to hide the fact, and getting down to and up off the ground was just not as easy for him as it had been, even five years ago. So when Bobby came upon the Bronco and simply bent at the waist to look underneath it, he missed seeing Dean completely.

Dean waited another five minutes until he was fairly sure that the coast was clear, then he dropped to the ground and scrambled out from beneath the truck. Off in the distance he could still hear his brother hollering for him, Sam's voice nearly hoarse now.

"Sorry, little brother, but I've got a gnome to hunt and I can't have you slowing me down."

So far, Dean had managed to avoid Sam and Bobby for the better part of the morning and into the early afternoon. Somewhere in the back of his drug addled mind, he knew that his brother was probably going out of his mind and there would eventually be Hell to pay for his disappearance, but right now Dean couldn't care about that. Because right now he was hot on the trail of the little monster that had left him battered and bruised earlier that morning.

Dean squatted down next to a water puddle, skimming the top with his hands and bringing a small amount first to his nose and then his lips, sipping carefully. The water was warm and sharp with an iron aftertaste, but it helped to soothe his parched lips.

He took a second sip and then shook the excess water from his hands, wiping them dry across his bare upper legs.

Sitting back on his haunches, Dean noticed the rust red stripes across the tops of his legs, left by his water stained hands. This gave him an idea.

Dean dipped his hands back into the water, digging down into the wet, iron stained soil beneath and brought out a handful of red mud. He smeared his hands together until the mud was the consistency of paint and then smiled.

"It's on Bitch."

With a muddy hand, Dean reached over his back and pulled his navy t-shirt up and over his head, tossing it on the ground beside him. He rewet his hands and began painting his face, upper body and arms with war paint-like stripes. A line that reached from beneath one eye, across his freckled nose and ending beneath his other eye. Two stripes running parallel along his jaw line. A rust red hand print over each shoulder, long bars encircling his upper arms and just for fun an arrow straight down his chest pointing to his groin.

He looked down at the discarded t-shirt. Snatching it up, he began tearing it into long strips. Dean wrapped one strip of fabric around each arm, tying it off into a tight knot at the top of his bicep and then a longer strip around his head in a makeshift bandana.

Catching his reflection in the passenger side window of an otherwise hollowed out station wagon, Dean knew he looked intimidating…dangerous even.

"God didn't make Rambo," he quoted, narrowing his eyes and nodding his head seriously, "I made him."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam sat on Bobby's sofa, slumped over his knees, the heels of his hands pressing firm circles into temples. Three hours of yelling his brother's name had given Sam the end all, be all of headaches.

"Here."

Bobby pitched a bottle of Tylenol at Sam through the doorway of the kitchen. Sam caught it by instinct alone, not even bothering to look up.

"You want a beer chaser?"

"Yes, please," Sam muttered.

He popped open the bottle and tossed a couple of the red caplets into the back of his throat, swallowing them dry.

Taking two beers out of the refrigerator, Bobby kicked the door closed. He twisted the caps off each bottle and flicked them into the sink where they clattered against the porcelain.

Sam looked up when Bobby reentered the library and handed a bottle off to him.

"Is this what it was like?"

"Is this what what was like?"

"All those times I disappeared. Is this what it felt like for Dean?"

Bobby nearly cringed at how small and pathetic the young man sounded, Sam's voice completely awash with guilt.

"The truth? Drove him half crazy and then some."

"Great," Sam huffed out a weak laugh.

With his beer resting between his legs, Sam leaned back into the couch with a groan, scrubbing his hands up and down his face. He let his head roll to the side, and peeked out beneath one eye lid at Bobby who was sitting on the corner of his desk.

"Hey, Bobby? You think we've got any chance in Hell of getting Dean out of this deal?"

"By 'we' you mean that demon chick."

"Ruby, yea."

"Honestly, Sam, I don't know why she's helping you; why she helped fix the Colt. But I'm positive she has an agenda and I'm even more sure that it's not to help Dean out of his deal."

"Yea."

Sam sat forward, bringing the bottle to his lips and tipping half the contents down his throat before stopping for a long, pained breath.

"Yea," he repeated, climbing to his feet. "I'm gonna go look some more."

"Sounds good. I'm gonna…start some supper."

Sam stopped mid-stride and turned to give Bobby a cockeyed look, his head tilted to the side, lip turned up & forehead peaking high into his over-long hair.

"What?" he asked, shaking his head in confusion, "Dean's off-his-rocker high and missing and you're thinking about food?"

"Dean hasn't eaten a thing since three this morning," Bobby retored, "For a boy who eats every two hours, that's a record. He's gonna be starvin', so if I can get a few tempting scents flowing outta that kitchen, I figure he'll show up pretty quick."

"That's insane logic, Bobby, but I like it," Sam grinned and strode out the door.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Off in the distance, a bank of rain clouds were gathering, blanketing over the low sun and casting a cool, blue tone over the entire car yard. But if Dean noticed the sudden drop in summer temperature, it wasn't apparent.

Hunched over at the waist, with his knees bent, Dean crept along the outside of the building. When he came to the end, he reached behind his back into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled out his trusty side view mirror.

While on the hunt, Dean had quickly discovered that he wasn't able to catch sight of the gnomes when he looked at them straight on. Which made complete sense of course. The butterflies had warned him how important 'the corners' were and Dean quickly understood that he needed to get a side view of the gnomes. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that he could use a mirror to see around the sides of buildings or vehicles. So, he'd pulled a side mirror off of an old pickup and busted the mirrored glass free of its encasement. It gave him just the advantage he needed as he scowered the yard for the nasty little beasties. What he hadn't been prepared for, though, was the sheer number of the creatures running around Singer Salvage.

He lifted his mirror and silently began to count to himself.

"Jesus, Bobby. You've got yourself an infestation! There's a baker's dozen congregating right here. Hmmm, baker's dozen. That sounds good."

Dean's stomach growled and as if on cue, three of the little monsters looked up and in his direction. He flattened himself against the outer wall, cursing beneath his breath.

"Dammit. Little buggers can hear good. You gotta focus, Winchester," he bit out, shaking the constant vertigo free of his head.

Using the mirror, he peeked around the corner again. His heart began to hammer in his chest when he found the whole gang of grubby little munchkins, galloping sideways down the length of the building, right in his direction.

"Crap," he muttered, a slight edge of panic creeping into his tone, "They're on to me."

In his rush to escape, Dean lost his footing and fell to his hands and knees.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," his harsh whispers came on a ragged breath.

It was hard work baby crawling at two miles an hour and his nearly thirty year old knees wholeheartedly agreed. Dean scrambled through an open doorway, diving behind a stack of discarded tires, just as the horde of little beasts waddled past. All of them duck walking sideways.

It was the strangest thing Dean had ever witnessed and after the last few hours he'd witnessed quite a lot, but still he had to wonder what the Gnomes possibly had to gain by walking this way.

He shook the thought away and began strategizing.

"I need…a weapon…something…something"

Dean came out of hiding and started searching the room he was in.

"Iron, gotta find me some iron. Iron kills everything. Or at least maims it."

Hanging from the side of a old tire change machine, Dean found a short handled crowbar. He bounced the heavy bar in his grip, becoming accustomed to its weight. It wasn't very long, but he would have to make do.

Dean edged toward the door, finding the world darker than it had been. He could smell the rain now, taste it even; sweet on his tongue. The rain would be here soon and Dean had a legitimate concern about being able to hunt his quarry in the muddy dark of the car yard.

But, he was ready for them now.

Just as Dean was about to lean out the door, he froze. All the hairs on the back of his neck stood up with the eerie feeling that he was being watched.

Dean heard a low gurgling laugh off to his right. And then a bit of whispered speech that he wasn't able to make out, off to his left. Straightening his back, he came to stand at his full height, broadening his shoulders to give himself the appearance of being larger than he was and turned slowly with deadly determination.

"Alright you little bastards…"

Dean's words fell away in shock at the sight in front of him. Thirty or forty of the little beasties completely surrounded him, all with their backs flat against the walls where they had side-stepped silently without Dean's knowledge, effectively sneaking up on him.

Oh, I get it now, was the brief thought that crossed his mind right before all Hell broke loose.

An ear-splitting warrior's cry rent the air. A terrifying command from the smallest of the gnomes, the leader, sent the troops buzzing into a frenzy; the air vibrating with the noise and movement.

Dean dropped into a defensive stance, iron crowbar clutched in both hands, ready to swing and knock them out of the park. If he was lucky and they came at him a few at a time, he might be able to hold his own. But when was the last time a Winchester had been truly lucky?

With a second scream from the leader, the entire group attacked with wild eyes and gnashing teeth. Their little hands raised and ready to tear at him. Even waddling, the charging mass of angry little men was a horrifying sight and Dean had to fight the urge to curl in on himself.

Pulling the iron high over his right shoulder, Dean put his back into the first swing, sending three of the snarling monsters sailing into the side wall of the building. But the first wave of attackers was eight strong and Dean reeled under their assault, crying out in pain when one of the gnomes latched onto his bare leg and sank its teeth into the meat of his calf.

"Son of a bitch!"

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam was making his way through the front half of the lot, rechecking all the areas he and Bobby had covered earlier that day, when he heard it. Dean's angry, and if Sam wasn't mistaken, pain-filled, cry, echoing metallically from one of the buildings at the back of the car yard. A sudden upwelling of adrenaline had Sam sprinting in that direction, shouting for his brother.

Just as he skidded around the corner of the building and was making for the entrance, the door slammed shut on him. Sam tried the handle, putting his shoulder into it, but the metal door didn't budge. He stepped back, shifted his weight to his back foot and brought a heavy boot up to the area around the latch, bursting through the door with a crash.

In the center of the room, Sam found Dean. Just Dean.

Sam blinked and assessed the sight before him incredulously. Dean, dressed in nothing but his boxers and…was that…war paint?…an iron bar gripped firmly in his hands. He was brandishing it ferociously, slamming it about erratically and apparently doing a fine job of beating the empty space around him into submission.

Sam's mouth fell open and all emotion drained from his face, leaving only a dumb expression of 'What the Hell?'

"What the Hell? Dean?"

"Well?" Dean panted. "Are you gonna just stand there and watch? Or are you gonna help me?"

Sam tried to shake the confusion out of his head as he watched his brother lift his left leg, giving it a strong shake. Dean reached down and grasped the empty air around his leg and strained to free himself from…something.

Watching Dean's actions, Sam decided, was like watching a really good mime…not that he would…ever, watch a mime, because mimes were practically clowns and that just didn't fly with Sam. But watching Dean now, Sam frowned, finding it hard to look away from the train wreck and trying just as hard to deny the strange enjoyment he was getting out of watching Dean struggle with…nothing or something. He wasn't entirely sure.

"Dammit!" Dean yelled as he toppled over backwards, his feet appearing to have actually been swept out from under him. He landed with an audible oomph and a mixture of growls and curses as he batted his hands around in a protective manner. All the while, Sam stood dumbfounded, staring at the bizarre display.

"Sam! Help. Me!"

But before Sam could make a move to help his brother up, Dean had bucked against whatever it was he thought was restraining him and rolled backwards over his shoulder. He landed in a crouch within reach of his crowbar, sneering in hatred at the area just in front of Sam's ankles.

Sam recoiled from the scathing look and backed slowly towards the pile of tires behind him, lifting his hands in a placating gesture.

Dean's eyes came up, fixating on a point just over Sam's shoulder. He bared his clenched teeth and growled, his lips twitching in rage.

"Dean?" Sam ventured.

"Sammy! Don't move," Dean warned urgently, "There's one of the little bastards behind you right now."

"A gnome?" Sam asked warily, almost slapping a hand to his forehead for even going along with Dean's insane hallucinations.

"Yea, a nasty one. This runt's the leader. Aren't you, you little dick?"

Sam's eyes grew wider yet, anticipating the attack he could feel coming. Dean was practically thrumming with hatred and it was all focused on the imaginary little thing sitting over his left shoulder.

"Oh, you understand me just fine. How'd you get to be leader, huh? Are leaders chosen for their looks? Cuz, Dude, you're a fugly little midget."

Dean lurched forward, raising his hand, ready to strike. Sam couldn't help but flinch at the movement, but stood his ground. Dean would never purposely hurt him, high or not.

"No, you don't. You stop your duck waddling right now! You stay the Hell away from my brother. This is between you and me. What the Hell do you want?"

"Dean?"

"Shhhh, Sammy."

Dean cocked his head to the side, like he was listening carefully. Slowly a disgusted grimace pulled across his face.

"Earwax? Dude, that's disgusting!"

Dean looked over Sam's shoulder, blinked slowly and when he refocused, he was looking directly into Sam's eyes. A slight shimmy of Dean's green eyes and Sam knew that he was trying to tell him something. Dean smiled, ever-so slightly.

"Swing away, Merrill. Swing away," Dean said quietly, nodding his head just once.

I should know that reference, Sam thought desperately, just before he saw Dean move into action.

"Duck!"

Another duck? Was it waddling? Sam straightened and turned to look at his brother, right as Dean swung the crowbar with all his might. The world slowed down, Sam's life passed before his eyes and he could do nothing but watch helplessly as the crowbar sailed full tilt towards his head.

"Fuhhh…."

The Iron rebounded off his skull with a dull twang. Sam's eyes rolled up, his knees buckled and he sank to the floor in a heap of long limbs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'd like to send a special request out to Kripke & the CW...rent the rights for one day! I think it's a fabulous idea. They could set up a charity, maybe use one of Jared's or Misha's. Can you imagine how much a fanfic writer might pay to have the rights for just one day? Until then...I own nothing.

"Oops. "Crap, Sammy. I'm sorry."

Dean pulled a stiff breath in through clenched teeth, cringing at the sight of Sam out cold. He knelt down next to his brother, carding a hand through Sam's hair looking for blood, luckily finding just a trace where the iron had brazed the skin.

"Saved by the hair, Sam. Crowbar must have ricocheted right off of it."

Dean was about to proceed with a more in depth inspection when he pulled up short. Behind him, Dean heard a low, guttural laugh. The dark sound rolled like a tympani drum, filling the room and sending shivers down Dean's back.

"Your fault!" Dean growled, baring his teeth.

He spun on the toe of one boot and found himself nose to nose with the tiny brute that Dean held responsible for his brother's condition.

If Dean's first encounter back at the house had been weird and frightening, coming face to face with the leader of the Gnomes was downright terrifying. Had it not been for the rush of adrenaline and anger he felt, Dean would have recoiled from the strangely imposing Gnome King.

Much shorter than any of the other gnomes Dean had yet to come across, the leader had a wild, tangle of grey hair and matching beard that did nothing to cover up the weather beaten face set with deep grooves and a nasty raw-red scar that blazed across his left brow and down onto his cheek.

But, it wasn't the wild, grizzled appearance that made the miniature man such a daunting figure. No, it was the eyes that nearly set Dean on his butt. Abnormally small eyes, black as night and protruding from dark, sunken eye sockets. They radiated hatred and death. And they bounced back and forth almost comically between Dean and the unconscious figure of his brother.

Squaring off, it growled right back at Dean, gnashing its rotten teeth, the stench of dirt and blood and rotting flesh heavy on its breath. A wave of nausea hit Dean, turning his mouth down in disgust. He crinkled his nose, trying to block out the pungent smell and in that moment of distraction, it attacked.

The little gnome lunged at the hunter, clawing for purchase with razor sharp nails. He was lightning fast, but Dean was faster, bringing the iron bar up as a barrier. Even with the iron between them, the gnome slammed bodily into Dean, knocking him off his feet and landing them heavily across Sam's thighs.

Dean was aware of the sizzle and scent of burnt flesh and hair, but he was more conscious of the fact that the iron wasn't slowing the Gnome King down one bit. The iron wasn't enough. He needed something more and quick, because the gnome's attentions continued to sway between its assault on Dean and clearing the distance between itself and Sam.

Dean didn't need to read its mind to know what it was thinking, but somehow he was. Though it didn't say a thing, Dean could hear it loud and clear. Not any language that he'd ever heard, but it didn't seem to matter. Dean understood it all. It was determined and ruthless and it would tear the older hunter apart to get at the younger. Tear him apart and then have them both.

Have them both for what? Dinner? Dean didn't wait to find out.

Reaching behind him, he quickly ran his hand down the length of his brother's leg searching for the cuff of Sam's jeans. Without taking his eyes off the Gnome King, Dean lifted the pant leg and followed Sam's boot to where he knew there would be a knife strapped.

"You stay away from my brother!"

In one fluid motion, Dean pulled the knife free, slashing it down and adding a new scar to the right side of the gnome's face.

It fell back in a hiss of pain, stumbling away from the brothers to regroup.

 

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Digging into his freezer, Bobby had surprised himself by finding a forgotten homemade cherry pie from Mrs. Thomas.

Mrs. Gertrude Thomas, an elderly woman who had lived down the road from Bobby for the better part of twenty years, had no one to look out for her except her neighbors.

So, whenever Bobby would stop by to cut her grass or clear the snow from her drive, Gert would spoil him in return by baking casseroles, cookies and pies, patting him on the cheek and calling him a 'sweet boy'.

Dean had long ago declared Gert's pies to be, 'The best pies in all of Minnehaha County' and even offered to marry her once or twice just so she could feed him pie every day.

From then on, whenever Mrs. Thomas saw John Winchester's black Chevy Impala pull down the dusty road, she would bustle into her kitchen, strap on an apron and start two pies. One for Bobby, John and young Sam. The other, all for the handsome twenty year old who could make her blush by batting his eyelashes at her.

Nearly ten years later and the eighty-three year old widow was still going strong, her pies as good as anything.

Bobby knew that if there was anything in the world that would get Dean to crawl out from beneath whatever rock he was hiding, Gert's cherry pie would be it.

He set the pie on a baking sheet inside the preheated oven and just as he was setting the egg timer, his hunter's instincts flared up. Bobby froze on the spot and listened through the open kitchen window. A cool summer breeze blew in, carrying with it the scent of the fast approaching rain and soft roll of thunder. But that wasn't what had caught Bobby's attention and set his nerves on edge. He wasted no time, tossing the egg timer on the counter and snatching up the only weapon in sight.

Heading directly out the door, Bobby took the front steps two at a time & jogged out into the yard in search of his boys. It didn't take him long to find the disturbance. A slew of angry shouts and curses led Bobby out to a building at the back of the lot, but when he approached the door, the building fell eerily silent.

"Dean? You in here?"

Bobby entered the shed, one of the boys' sawed-off shotguns leveled dangerously in his hands. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and discovered Dean hovering protectively over Sam's prone form.

"God, Sam."

He hustled to Sam's side, laying the gun aside and began checking the young man's vitals.

"Jesus. What happened here?"

He looked to Dean for an answer but found the young man glaring murderously at the empty air space directly in front of him, a crowbar in one hand and Sam's silver bladed Bowie in the other.

"Hey! What's the matter with you?"

When Dean's focus remained centered on his invisible enemy, Bobby reached across Sam and smacking the older brother's shoulder sharply with the back of his hand.

"Dean! Snap out of it!"

"Can't look away."

"What?" Dean's words had been so hushed that Bobby wasn't sure he'd even heard them.

"Can't look away, Bobby. If I look away, it'll move in on Sam. Move in on all of us…from the corners."

He paused for a moment to adjust his position. The barely noticeable movement was a warning; a miniscule lunge to show their attacker that he was still very much present in their battle of wills. He shook his head, ever so slightly, his eyes hardening more and his lip drawing up in an inaudible growl.

"No. It won't stop with the earwax, Bobby. No intentions of stopping. Sam's weakened and he's been upgraded…to lunch."

Bobby grimaced at the disturbing thoughts swimming around in Dean's mind. It was clear, that despite first appearances, the boy was not at all in control of his senses. At this point, Bobby would give his right arm to go back to the butterflies and the insane giddiness of this morning. That had at least been comical and entertaining. But Dean's trip had turned dark and ominous and the man himself, erratic and uncontrollable. Bobby became resigned to the fact that once he could get Dean corralled, he would have to be restrained, if for no other reason, than his own safety.

"It's my fault, Bobby, what happened to Sam. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let that little bastard anywhere near my brother again.

"We ain't got time for your psychotic delusions, Boy. You're brother is bad off."

"I know!" Dean barked, turned to glare over his shoulder at his friend.

His features softened when he saw the concern etched all over Bobby's face and when his eyes flicked to his prone brother, lying frighteningly still at Bobby's feet, Dean's voice became much gentler. "I know. Look, get Sam to the house. I'll cover you."

"And how exactly do you figure I'm gonna be able to lug his heavy ass all the…"

"Crap!" Dean interrupted.

He'd been diverted. His attention had swayed to Bobby and away from the little monster that was stalking the three of them. And now it was gone. Dean did a quick sweep of the building, watching from the corner of his eye, only to find the room empty. Panic set it immediately.

"Crap!" he repeated, throwing aside his weapons to free his hands. "We gotta move. Now!"

Unable to ignore Dean's urgency, Bobby was quick to follow his lead. Together they caught Sam beneath the arms and made to pull him to his feet.

"On three," Bobby called. "One…"

"Three!"

Digging deep, Dean found the strength to pull Sam up from the floor almost entirely on his own. He wrapped an arm around the small of Sam's back, hooking his fingers beneath his brother's leather belt, Bobby repeating the action from the other side.

"Come on Sammy. Rise and shine, Kiddo. Time to go."

Bobby had to run to keep up with Dean, dragging Sam's feet behind them. Halfway across the yard, thunder rolled deeply above and rain began to pepper the ground, the ice cold summer rain sending immediate shivers down Dean's bare back and spurring him to move faster.

When they reached the front steps, Dean slipped his other arm around Sam's chest, relieving Bobby of his side. The older hunter snatched up Sam's dragging feet, hauling him up, until the young man's bent knees were cradled in Bobby's hands. He nodded his readiness at Dean and they began to carefully ascend the stairs, then fought their way through the front door, finally depositing Sam with a bounce onto the too small sofa.

Bobby doubled over, his hands posted on his knees for support, panting deeply.

Dean on the other hand, wasted no time. He went immediately to the fireplace and snatched up an iron fire poker, weighing it carefully in his hand and then grabbed a second, handing it off to Bobby.

"You watch him," Dean instructed. "Lay salt lines and keep the iron handy."

"Where the Hell do you think you're goin'?" Bobby argued.

"You're not gonna see them coming at you," Dean continued, not paying Bobby any attention. "Watch the peripherals. They come at you from the outskirts of the room, kind of creeping sideways and they're sneaky. You don't even notice them until they're on you."

"Dean."

"Protect him, Bobby. Protect yourself."

"You're not going anywhere, Kid."

"Don't worry, Bobby, I got this."

Dean turned and ran from the room, Bobby chasing him halfway down the hall until he was stopped by the sound of a groan.

"Dammit!"

Bobby shook his head in frustration, rolling his eyes. He was beginning to question his own sanity for ever opening the door in the middle of the night. Bobby heard a second groan and put Sam back at the top of his list of priorities. Dean would have to wait.

"Sam? You with me, Son?" Bobby grabbed a chair from beside his desk and set down in it beside the sofa.

Sam groaned again, his eyes blinking slowly open, taking a little too long to focus.

"S'umbich," he slurred, groggily finding Bobby.

"What happened out there, Sam?"

"As'ho hi me."

Bobby took just a moment to translate the garbled language.

"Who hit you? Dean? Sam, did Dean hit you?"

"Mmm," was Sam's positive response.

"On purpose?"

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mud and water splashed up over Dean's boots and bare legs as he ran through the rain soaked lot. What had been a light summer rain had quickly turned into a full-fledged thunderstorm.

A crack of lightening seared the atmosphere and Dean stopped briefly to watch the gold streak tear and shred the dark afternoon sky. Everywhere around him, the thunder rolled, and with it came the voices. Dark, angry voices, urging him to see his task to completion now, before it was too late.

"I'm tryin', dammit. What was I suppose to do, let it get at my brother?" Dean's voice was nearly raw with indignation. "I couldn't do that."

Dean felt the blast wave hit him before he even registered the flash. A bolt of lightning blasted down into the lot, striking an old, non-working windmill and scorching the ground below it. Even though he was a safe distance away, the power of the strike knocked Dean off his feet, landing him flat on his back in the mud. Not quite sure if he was truly alive or dead, Dean laid there for a moment, his body buzzing with residual electricity.

Pulling it together, he extracted himself from the mud and tried to shake the ringing from his ears, but that only encouraged a wave of nausea to sweep through his head. Dean bent over at the waist, breathing slowly, trying to take back control of his body.

A long round of thunder rolled over the property causing Dean to cringe in fear of another strike; in fear of the wrath of whatever butterfly God he'd managed to piss off.

"Alright," he conceded. "I'm sorry. What do I gotta do?"

Dean became completely still, listening to the words tumbling out of the clouds overhead. It became perfectly clear. Like the voice of an angel sent down from Heaven, if Dean believed in such a thing, giving implicit instructions, a command not to be second guessed, to be followed to the letter without question. Dean was born for this; soldiering. There was no one better qualified to be set this task and he knew it. Dean straightened with newly reborn confidence.

He had a plan to put into place, a trap to be set; inside the house, on home turf, where the situation could be better controlled.

But there was time. He knew now, that the gnomes had retreated into hiding when the storm had started and they would remain there until the rain receded. Dean also understood that there was indeed a hierarchy to the clan of gnomes. A house of cards with its King of Spades standing boldly on top. Knock the crap out of the King and the house collapses beneath his weight.

But first things first. Dean was a filthy mess. Of all that he had learned or had been shown today the one thing worth remembering was that to be completely worthy of the task, he must be purified. Cleansed of the binding mud that clung to him like clothing. Cleansed of the anger and desperation he'd felt at seeing his brother in danger. Cleansed entirely of the worries and burdens that he carried in this world.

He would walk into the purifying flames and reappear on the other side a whole man. Now…where were those flames?

The storm clouds growled again, low and distant, the voices withdrawing with the rolling thunder.

Dean turned in the direction of the house, following the retreating voices, soaking in their instructions and soaking in his skin as the clouds opened fully into a downpour.

Leaning back, he turned his face toward the sky, letting the large, icy cold raindrops strike him about the face and chest, like chilled magic fingers. Dean wanted nothing more than to lie down on the lawn and let the rain wash over him.

And so he did. Dean sat down on the too long grass of Bobby's front lawn and began to unlace his boots, pulling them and his socks free of his feet. He wiggled his toes, digging them down into the dark green of the lawn. Dean was so overwhelmed by a deep feeling of freedom that he didn't even try to stop himself when he felt the urge to strip out of the last remaining article of clothing.

 

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"Sam, sit down," Bobby groused in frustration, pressing the ice pack firmly into place over the goose egg growing out of Sam's scalp. He reached down and captured Sam's wrist, bringing the young man's hand up, demonstrating how Sam would need to hold the ice in place for himself.

With the pressure of Bobby's hand pressing against his very sore head, Sam could to nothing but scowl up at his friend and gripe.

"I can't believe this is happening…again. I mean, really. How many times am I gonna lose him today? I'm…I'm like…completely useless," Sam stuttered out of exasperation.

"Not just you, Kid. I lost him too."

"Yea, well…you at least had a reason. Tch," he tutted in disgust. "My dumb ass. Seriously? Who goes and lets himself get clocked by a crowbar? I mean…I saw it comin', Bobby. Honestly, my head was screaming 'Duck, you idiot,' while my heart was saying, 'He won't hit you.' And then, Wham!"

Sam groaned a little as the volume of his own voice beat its way around the inside of his skull.

"Uhhh, kill me now," Sam moaned.

"No sense in doin' that. Now quit your belly achin' and take these."

Bobby dropped a few Ibuprofen into Sam's other hand and waited to hand him a glass of water to wash it down with.

Sam tipped his head back, letting the water chase down the handful of pills he'd swallowed. He took a second long, deep drink and that's when it happened.

Lightning snapped like a bull whip, vibrating through the house, startling both men and plunging them into darkness.

The room wasn't pitch black, but it was dark enough that Sam couldn't make out Bobby's expression. But then again, Sam didn't need to see Bobby to recognize irritation when he heard it.

Bobby sniffed audibly. It was a wet sound followed immediately by the older hunter bringing a hand up to his face to wipe away the remnants of Sam's water.

"God, Bobby. I'm sorry," Sam apologized, angling for sincere but coming away slightly amused.

Bobby, however, did not see the humor in it. He growled a little in Sam's direction and then turned for the kitchen to seek out his extra flashlights, stopping to look out the kitchen window to look for any yard lights from further down the road. There were none.

"That was damn close. Musta hit one of the underground lines. Chances are we won't get lights back until tomorrow. Here, catch."

Even in the dark, and with a concussion to boot, Sam was able to nimbly catch the flashlight. He lit it up and then pulled to his feet.

"That was too close. I gotta go find Dean," he groaned as the head throbbed upon standing. "Preferably before he gets himself electrocuted."

"We'll go together this time. He can't possibly outsmart both of us, together."

Bobby chuckled to himself knowing he'd probably just jinxed them. He turned to follow Sam out the door and nearly bumped into his back, when the wall of a kid pulled up short.

"Oh Gawd," Sam moaned.

"Ya'lright? What's wrong?"

Bobby flashing his light up trying to get a good look at him, but Sam's eyes were locked on a spot in the front yard. Then he half covered his face with his free hand and groaned.

"I found him."

"That was fast," Bobby responded, turning to follow Sam's gaze.

There was nothing or no one in the world that could have possibly prepared Bobby for what he saw.

Dean Winchester, buck naked on his lawn. Bobby tilted his head to one side, thinking that maybe if he examined this from a different angle the outcome might be different. No such luck. Nope, just Dean. Naked. And…doing the backstroke?

Bobby didn't even need to look at Sam to know that the boy's eyebrows had disappeared into his scalp; that his eyes were abnormally wide & his jaw was scrapping the ground in complete disbelief.

"Weird day," Bobby offered quietly.

"Ya think?"


	7. Chapter 7

Dean sat in the center of Bobby's yard, knees pulled up loosely, his hands, palms up to catch the falling rain. The same rain that had wet the grass that tickled the back of his legs and soaked through the knit cotton of his boxer briefs. The same fresh summer rain that sent a delicious chill up Dean's back and convinced him that he'd found the sure-fire method that would cleanse him; would purify him.

Dean reached down to grab a hold of the elastic of his shorts and then slid the waist band down, lifting his hips to accommodate their removal. He kicked his legs free of the drenched fabric, balled the shorts up and pitched them out into the dark night.

The yard lights had blown out during the lightning strike, leaving the entirety of the property plunged into darkness. Maybe this is why Dean found the rain so fascinating.

He pressed his hands into the soft ground behind him and leaned back, letting his head tip over his shoulders. Dean looked up into the dark sky and watched the large raindrops careen towards him, splashing off of his face, torso and legs. Each drop, illuminated as if by magic, shone outwardly like a beacon of light, bathing Dean and his surroundings in millions of crystal white lights, soaking into his skin like water on sand, lighting him up from within.

Dean let himself fall back into the soft bed of grass beneath him. It was an assault on his senses. The grass, too long and going to seed, was poking and scraping softly into his skin, while the rain whispered and kissed across his exposed body. Like pin pricks of electricity, the rain ignited all his nerves and Dean gasped at the giddy feeling surging through himself.

A giggle bubbled up in his chest, escaping his throat and Dean sank fully into the sensation, pulling his arms, one at a time, above his head, swimming through the long grass.

 

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"You're gonna have to go out there and fetch him."

Sam's head snapped around to stare wide-eyed at Bobby.

"Why me?" he asked, his voice breaking into an entirely new octave.

"S'your brother," Bobby retorted. The answer had seemed obvious enough to him, but Sam wasn't going down without a fight.

"Last time I got anywhere near Dean, he leveled me with a crowbar."

Bobby frowned at the younger man, shaking his head. He raised a hand in Dean's general direction.

"Do you see a crowbar on him now? Hell, he hasn't even got anywhere to hide one. Go get him 'fore he catches himself a cold."

Sam rolled his eyes skyward, his mouth moving over silent complaints, making Bobby smile as he was reminded just how much the two boys were actually alike.

"Get goin'. I'll go get a fire started, case we need to warm him up."

A quick smirk passed over Bobby's face as he ducked back into the house, leaving Sam to stand on the porch trying to scrub the tension out of his neck. With an exasperated huff, Sam rolled his shoulders loose and then stripped out of his over shirt. No way in Hell was he gonna be escorting Dean anywhere in his current state of undress.

Several deep breaths and a deciding nod of his head and Sam was running down the stairs into the pouring rain, his boots splashing heavily in the waterlogged yard.

"Hey!" Sam called, his voice warbling through the saturated atmosphere. "Dean!"

Mid-stroke, Dean lifted his head and turned in the direction of Sam's voice, a big, cheesy grin plastered across his face. He raised a hand to give Sam a loose wave and then continued swimming.

"Dean, come on, man. Time to go."

"Where we goin', Sammy?"

"Inside. Dude, it's pouring out here and you're…" Sam waved his hand airily about Dean's naked form. "Just come on."

Sam reached a hand down to Dean, who accepted it and together they pulled him to his feet, Dean stumbling into his brother. Sam immediately tensed, throwing both his hands and his eyes up to avoid any possible unwanted touching or looking.

"Jesus, Dean. Put this on."

Dean was handed Sam's over shirt which he agreeably put on and for a moment his chilled fingers struggled with the buttons, before Sam pushed his hands away.

"Here, let me."

Watching his little brother make quick work of the buttons, Dean smiled, sighing contently. At the sound, Sam glanced up from beneath his bangs.

"What?"

"You're a good brother," Dean answered in a lazy drawl. "I don't tell you that enough."

"Uh, okay. Thanks, I guess. There. All done. It's wet, but at least it's long enough to cover…almost everything. Now, can we go inside? I'm soaked."

Dean nodded, still smiling, and let himself be steered in the direction of the house. Sam pushed and prodded Dean up the porch stairs, inside and then again up the stairs to their shared bedroom.

This situation was just too ridiculous, made even more so, by Dean's almost childlike appearance, the round of his bottom peeking out from beneath Sam's extra long button down. And Sam choked down the laugh that threatened to escape while trying desperately to avert his eyes from the overly white backside leading the way up the stairs.

Once inside the room, Sam used a heavy hand to sit Dean down on the bed, then the younger Winchester rounded the bed, squatting down beside the open duffel on the floor. He grabbed out a full change of clothes for Dean and a dry t-shirt for himself.

"Get dressed, Dean," he said handing his brother the fresh clothing.

Sam turned away and walked to stare out the window, giving Dean a little privacy so he could strip out of Sam's shirt.

"You're mad at me?"

It really wasn't so much a question as it was a statement and Dean's tone pulled at Sam's heart so that he released a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding.

"I'm not mad," Sam replied quietly. "I'm frustrated and I'm really tired."

"Sound mad."

Sam rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. "I don't mean to sound pissy but I'm exhausted, alright? Chasing after you…it's like having a dozen full time jobs."

Sam glanced at Dean's reflection in the window. His older brother sat motionless, leaning back against his hands and appeared for once to actually be listening. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Sam continued.

"I know you're in the middle of the Magical Mystery Tour, but seriously, Dude, you gotta settle down or something. These gnomes or whatever it is that you think you're hunting…they're not real. You understand that, right?"

Dean responded with a soft 'yea' and Sam relaxed just a little. He reached over his back and pulled his wet t-shirt up and over his head. "You get that you're hallucinating?" Sam tossed the dripping fabric on the floor and shook the excess water from his hair.

"And that you're gonna end up hurting yourself? Hell, Dean. You hit me with a crowbar. I can't take many more hits like that."

Sam slipped his arms into the dry shirt and in one fluid motion, tossed it over his head and pulled it down over his lean torso.

"…the head," Dean gasped.

"That's right, my head, Dean. I mean we could be talking permanent brain damage, here."

"That's right," Dean repeated, his voice soft and intense.

Sam's brow furled and he glanced in the window again. He was slightly surprised to see Dean still naked on the bed.

"Why aren't you getting dressed? Get movin'. Bobby's already threatening to tie you down."

"Oh yea, right there," Dean groaned, breathily, "that's so good."

Sam stilled, his shoulders stiffening. He looked up toward the ceiling, dreading what he was going to see when he turned around. Very slowly, he pivoted on the spot.

And it was all so much worse than Sam had imagined.

Dean was leaned back across the mattress, both hands fisted in the clean sheets of the newly remade bed. His head was thrown back, face lightly flushed. His chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasped, his entire body humming with pleasure.

"Son of a bitch," Sam cursed beneath his breath as a cry of ecstasy tore out of Dean's throat and both Dean and the clean sheets became soiled.

 

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I'm not cleaning that up! He can go screw himself…or well…you know what I mean, whatever."

Sam came charging into the kitchen where Bobby was cutting into the pie that he had just managed to save from over-baking. Bobby recoiled slightly, putting the knife he had been using between himself and the boy's flailing body.

"What's the matter with you now? I swear, Sam. You're actin' like a petulant child. Go back up there and help your brother. We've gotta get him restrained before he goes and does some other fool crazy act."

"You don't get it, Bobby. He already has. He came."

"Came where? Wait…what?"

"Exactly. He came. Ejaculated? All over himself. And I refuse, man. I ain't doin' it. Next you'll tell me that I have to wipe his…"

"Was he…ya know?" Bobby made a crude hand gesture down in front of his own groin.

"No, he wasn't. Dean was just sitting there with it all hangin' out there in the breeze and next thing I know he's…talking. Like…'talking'. And it's gonna take a gallon of bleach and a pound of steel wool to scrub that image from my brain. I mean, thank God I was clear across the room!"

"Musta been one Hell of a breeze."

Bobby had meant the comment to be funny and it was. Sam laughed softly, the corners of his mouth pulling, making his dimples stand out. But then he sagged, all the fight and energy draining out of him.

"You gotta handle this, Bobby. I just…can't right now."

Sam turned abruptly, going for the nearest exit, but the quick movement caused his jarred brain to slosh just enough to make him unsteady. Luckily for him, Bobby caught him by the arm, helping to steady his feet. Unluckily for him, Bobby caught him period.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, just wait a minute. Hey! Look at me."

He waited until he had Sam's full attention and then seeing just how wrung out and exhausted the kid was, Bobby eased off what would have been a lecture and used a lighter touch.

"I know things ain't been easy lately. You and I…it's hard is all I'm sayin'. Scary, the thought of losing him. I know you're hurtin'. But we still got him. Right this minute, we got him. So, don't go walkin' off just cuz you can't deal with this little bit of craziness. Things are bound to get a lot crazier the closer we get…to…ya know."

"Yea, I know."

Sam took a deep breath and then made the conscious decision to go back up to his brother, nodding his confirmation. Bobby patted him encouragingly on the shoulder, giving the kid a heartfelt smile. Sam was about to return the smile, but pulled up short.

"Just so you know," he started, "I'm still not cleaning that up."

Bobby had the decency to wait until Sam was out of the room and up the stairs before he burst out laughing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Reminder, this is set in Season Three. There's no such thing as canon faeries yet and other things that come up.

Surprisingly, Dean was not only dressed when Sam walked back into the room, he was also pulling the sheets from his bed and he had the decency to flush with embarrassment upon seeing Sam.

"You're up," Sam remarked, nonchalantly, trying his best and failing miserably to appear like nothing had happened. His eyes bounced, looking everywhere in the room except directly at Dean. He finally settled on casting his eyes down to the wooden floor boards.

Dean was staring down into his hands, also trying to avoid his brother. A moment later, reality set in and he realized that he was still holding the sheets that were dotted with his own semen. He quickly rolled them into a ball and tossed them into a corner of the room, subconsciously wiping his hands on the backside of his jeans.

Shuffling his feet, Sam rubbed absentmindedly up the back of his neck, making his hair wing up in back.

"So…" he started.

"So…" Dean repeated, taking a deep breath and then rushing on, "I'm sorry about earlier. 'Bout everything. The…uh…you know. The…um…bed…thing." He cleared his voice and scratched nervously at his scalp. "For runnin' off on you today and showin' back up naked." There was a moment of confusion that crossed Dean's face and then he continued with, "Don't really remember what happened to all my clothes."

"And my head?" Sam asked, trying not to sound too bitter.

"Your head? Oh," Dean sighed, suddenly looking more crestfallen than before. "I was kind of hoping that part was a hallucination. Are you…okay?"

"I'll live."

Simultaneously, each brother took a step. Dean toward his little brother and Sam away, keeping an equal distance between them and making Dean feel even worse for his earlier actions.

"Can I look?" he asked solemnly and when he didn't get an immediate answer, "Please?"

The kicked puppy look was usually reserved for Sam's use, but today, Dean managed it just fine, making Sam's stomach flip uneasily. He took a step in Dean's direction, lifting and parting his hair to reveal the split skin and goose egg hidden beneath.

Dean also stepped in, closing the space between them, his hands meeting Sam's and leaning his brother's head down so he could inspect the injury.

"S'it hurt?"

"Not so much," Sam responded, although he whimpered a moment later when Dean put the slightest pressure on the contusion. "Makes me dizzy if I turn too fast. You know, typical concussion stuff."

Dean leaned in further and before Sam realized what he was doing; Dean had placed a soft, chaste kiss to Sam's bruise.

"Dean?" It was both a question and a warning. Sam quickly pulled out of Dean's grasp, backing away cautiously.

"What? You don't want me to kiss it and make it better?" Dean frowned, looking disappointed. "You used to like it when I did that."

"When I was four, Dean." Sam stalked across the room, putting much needed space between them.

"Yea, well…whatever." Dean crossed his arms over his chest, a full on pout now present on his lips. "I'm still your big brother."

Sam spun back around, pressed a hand into his brow to stop the room from spinning and then leveled Dean with a serious look.

"How long is this gonna go on, Dean? Just when I think you're lucid, you pull a little more crazy out of your hat."

"So, taking care of you is crazy? Why?"

"No, you playing Mommy is crazy. Just stop it…okay? It's creepy, Dude."

"Fine."

Dean let his hands drop to his side with a slap of skin on denim and then he began a slow pace down the length of the room, instantly on edge again.

"Tell me what's going on, Dean. Tell me how I can help. What you're seeing, fighting, Hell, tell me about…the bed thing."

"Really?" Dean stopped his pacing to really study Sam's expression; to determine if Sam was being upfront in wanting to know or if he was just pacifying Dean by asking.

"I'm so gonna regret this," Sam mumbled under his breath, "but yea. I guess."

"Okay." Dean paused; wet his lips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to chew on while mentally reviewing his long day and then released a long slow breath. "I know they're hallucinations. I'm not that far gone that I don't realize that."

"Really." Sam responded sarcastically, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I'm not an idiot, Sam, but these hallucinations are so real and vivid. I just can't help but react to them. You see a ten ton truck coming at you, even when you know it's not real, you're still gonna jump out of the way, just in case."

"I get that, Dean, but…"

"But, nothing. You and me, we fight monsters and ghosts and all manner of scary crap, all day long. I get whammied with a case of the nasties, it's only normal for me to see weird, like really weird stuff. And the hunter in me won't just lie down and enjoy the ride."

"So, these gnomes you've been chasing?"

"Sneaky little sons a'bitches. All claws and teeth and pointed little hats. They don't move very fast, but they're stealthy as Hell and you don't know they're even there until they're on you."

"They? How many do you see?"

"Dozens. They're biding their time right now, because of the rain, but they'll be back. I'm sure of it. They've got this leader; a king, I think. And they follow his command to the letter."

"And you know all this, how?"

"The butterflies told me," Dean answered matter-of-factly.

"Right. Look, Dean, break it down for me. What are they after? How do you kill them?"

"Iron seems to work. Burns their skin. Haven't had a chance to actually kill one yet, but I'm sure iron will do the trick. What are they after? Well besides making a meal out us, they're really into earwax."

"Earwax," Sam repeated flatly.

"I didn't say it made sense!" Dean threw his hands up in frustration and started back at the trek he was burning into the floor.

Sam lifted a placating hand to slow his brother's pace. Dean stopped and sank down on his bed, his head falling into his hands.

As Sam went to take a seat next to him, the very unwanted image of his brother in the throes of an orgasm on that very bed, stopped Sam in his tracks. Instead, he squatted down in front of Dean and cautiously laid a hand on Dean's arm.

"I'm not crazy, Sam." Dean's voice was so soft and on the verge of emotional, that it clamped down on Sam's heart. "Just, tell me you don't think I'm crazy."

Sam gave Dean a gentle squeeze and tried his best to give his brother a genuine smile.

"I don't think you're crazy, Dean. You can't control what you're seeing right now, but it'll get better. I promise."

"What if what I'm seeing is real?"

"Dean…"

"No wait, hear me out. What if these gnomes or whatever they are…what if they're real and I can see them because of this trip? Maybe the hallucinogens are opening up some door that lets me see them? What if…"

"Dean, come on. I believe a lot of stuff, we kind of have to in this line of work, but gnomes? That's like saying faeries and elves exist."

"Yea, I know. It's just…so real."

The brothers sat in companionable silence for a moment. Dean's head back in his hands. Sam's hand gripped around his brother's forearm, lending Dean strength. After what seemed like an hour, Dean took a deep breath and straightened up.

"So, Bobby wants to tie me up?"

Not able to meet Dean's eyes, Sam lowered his head and nodded.

"S'okay, Sammy. Probably for the best, anyway. I can't really promise that I'm not gonna go wandering off to follow some insane illusion."

"If there was another way…"

"It's not like Bobby's got some padded room for me to hole up in until this is over. No. This is better."

"Hmmm," Sam thought out loud.

Dean tilted his head, his mouth curling up in amusement as he watched the wheels spin in Sam's head. The younger Winchester zoned out completely until Dean waved a hand in his face.

"What?" Sam asked seeing the look on his brother's face. "No. Nothing," he answered his own question, his mind spinning too fast. "It's just…a padded room. Not really such a bad idea. Maybe Bobby should consider it."

"Or, maybe a padded helmet for your head," Dean offered with a slight smile. Dean stood up from the bed, pulling Sam up with him and grabbed the younger man at the elbow when Sam swayed. "You're sure you're alright?"

Sam wrinkled his nose, his lip curling. "You're one to talk. I'm just seeing stars. You're seeing butterflies and gnomes and what?...invisible girls?"

A broad smile eased over Dean's face, climbing all the way up to his eyes, crinkling the delicate skin there.

"Sammy, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"Good thing you're not a gentleman," Sam shot back, stepping on Dean's heels on the way out of the bedroom. Both men pulled up short at the top of the staircase.

"Oh no," Sam said shaking his head. "Not again. You ride those stairs down on your ass. I'm not carrying you a second time."

A look of mock-hurt flashed across Dean's face for just a second, but then he shrugged it off. He took a seat on the top step and began the bump-slide-bump-slide all the way down the wooden staircase.

Sam closed his eyes and let a laugh bubble out, but when he opened his eyes again, the stairs moved and twisted in his sight. Sam gave up pretending that he was alright and joined his brother in the child-like descent.

By the time the boys had finally made their way down the stairs, Bobby was waiting for them with a couple of sandwiches that he'd thrown together and Gert's famous cherry pie. After a quick mean, Dean submitted peacefully to Bobby and allowed himself to be tied down on to a chair in the library.

"Don't go getting any ideas about this, Bobby. I'll admit that I enjoy a little bondage as much as the next guy, but you're not exactly my type. I prefer my girls…prettier.

"I'm pretty," Bobby growled, pulling the knot tight before cuffing Dean affectionately on the back of the head.

Sam just smiled at the exchange, leaning against the desk, scraping the last bits of cherry off his plate and licking his folk clean.

 

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Dean had devised a plan long before he had surrendered to Bobby's restraint. The plan? Diversion. So while Bobby was making his traditional rounds, locking the house down with salt and wards, Dean put his plan into action.

As embarrassing as it was, Dean purposely led the conversation back to what they were now calling 'the bed thing'. It started innocently enough, with the quiet mention of laundry and the linens he had tossed aside earlier.

"Hey, I don't mean to do this to you," he started, directing the question at his brother, "but I left those sheets upstairs. Don't s'pose you'd be willing to grab 'em for me, throw 'em in the wash?"

That was all it took. Bobby came around the corner just as Dean was mentioning 'the sheets'. He jumped on the subject like a dog on steak.

"Just out of curiosity…"

"Oh boy," Sam mumbled, sliding down further behind his laptop screen, not liking where this conversation was going.

"What exactly were you seeing up there?"

"You wantin' the play by play, here Bobby?" Dean asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief and while Bobby and Sam were distracted, he began slowly pulling the knots behind his back apart.

Dean went on to explain the sudden appearance of the pretty blonde with the glittery wings that spoke to him in the unified voice of a multitude. She'd stood in front of him, petting his face, looking on him with adoration, affirming their belief in him and his quest and offering herself to him. Her hand had grazed down his torso as she had lowered herself to the floor between his knees and with neither a yea nor a nay from Dean, had taken him wholly into her mouth.

"So!" Sam cleared his voice roughly, effectively cutting Dean off. "Tinkerbell, huh?" he asked.

"Not Tinkerbell," Dean frowned. "There's no such thing as faeries, Sam. Naw, she was a butterfly princess." Dean's voice dropped into a soft, dreamy state, his face easing with a satisfied smile.

Satisfied, because behind his back, the ropes fell completely loose and his arms were freed. Now he just had to wait.

 

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It was well after midnight before the rain stopped and another half hour before Dean noticed that the atmosphere of the room was changing.

Bobby was seated behind the desk, reading through a new reference book he'd ordered online. His head was propped up in his hand, his eyes losing the fight to stay open while he read and re-read the same line over and over.

Across the room Sam was tucked in beside a bookcase, his elbow resting easily on top to hold him up. He was also engrossed in a book, stopping every minute or so, to fold a corner down to mark the page or jot something down in the margin. He glanced up from his book to check on his brother, who was cashed out; leaning back against the chair, his chin resting heavily on his chest.

Except that he wasn't. Dean's head was down, sure, but from beneath his long lashes, Dean was vigilantly guarding the room, watching for the little monsters that he knew were gearing up for their attack.

He didn't have long to wait. A few minutes after the hall clock struck three, they came; like roaches crawling out of the woodwork at night. Dean couldn't help but wonder how it was possible for Sam and Bobby to be completely oblivious to the little nasties creeping up on them. They were silent and cunning, sure, but the sheer number of them should have set off some alarm. The hunter's instinct should have been kicking in by now, but still, Bobby and Sam remained unawares.

Dean's plan was in place and all it required was perfect timing on his part. He'd been sure to scout the room for weapons before Bobby had sat him down and applied the bindings. There were still two fire irons beside the fireplace and a blade that Bobby kept inside the top drawer of his desk.

Dean took a moment to measure out the distance and timing. He had one chance to get this right and he couldn't afford to be off by even a second. The gnomes would file in, take their places and await the command of their King and Dean would wait too. One swing, hard and true, would be all Dean would need to end this nightmare. One swing aimed directly for the Gnome King.

It wasn't until Dean heard the tell-tale hiss of the King's laughter directly behind him, that he knew he was screwed and his plans went down the drain.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a small noise, a quiet intake of breath, that caught Sam's attention. He glanced up from his book to find Dean staring hard at him, willing Sam to hear the non-verbal warnings Dean was sending him. Only his eyes moved, a minute movement first to the left and then to the right, bouncing from one spot to another; counting, Sam realized.

Sam made to step away from his place against the book shelf, but one frantic look from Dean stopped him, pinning him against the wall. Sam understood what was going on. The gnomes had returned…in numbers it appeared and Sam wanted nothing more than to go to his brother and help soothe his worry and the nightmarish hallucinations away. But at the same time, a voice in the back of his mind whispered to him. Dean's voice. 'What if what I'm seeing is real?'

It wasn't possible. Was it? Wouldn't he and Bobby have found something, some kind of credible proof of the gnomes' existence? What if Dean was right? Sam looked back to his brother.

Don't move, don't move, don't move. The mantra was set on repeat in Dean's head, willing Sam not to move, not to give the little king a reason to begin the attack. Not yet, not until Dean had come up with a new plan.

Behind him, the Gnome King laughed, painting the back of Dean's neck with the moisture of its putrid breath. To gain a height advantage it had climbed up on to the sofa behind Dean and was leaning against him, its clawed hands biting into Dean's shoulders painfully.

Dean fought the urge to cringe, his stomach rolling from the stench of rot and old blood. Stronger was the urge to bolt upright out of his chair and start swinging. Especially because it was chattering on in its own garbled language, about its intentions for Sam and Bobby; tearing Dean's family apart, piece by piece while he was forced to watch. It made Dean's blood boil and his hands itch behind his back where they were clenched in fists; the knuckles bone white.

They would start with the old man, he was told and Dean's wide eyes immediately swung to Bobby, who was now asleep over his desk. Standing beside him on the old oak desktop was a gnome with particularly deadly looking claws. It leaned over the Winchesters' surrogate father, grinning wickedly while clicking razor sharp nails. The repetitive tic, tic, tic of the action grated on Dean's very last nerve, but he managed to bite back the warning cry that was fighting its way out of him. He had to get to that fire iron.

The myriad emotions playing across Dean's face were rapid and hard to keep up with. Disgust, fear, anger, hatred; they each flashed so quickly, changing in an instant and Sam struggled against his need to reach out to his brother. Dean's eyes had begged him to stay still and so Sam stood still, wary yet silently watching what could be a volatile situation play out.

And then Dean's whole countenance sagged, his head bowing, his shoulders falling in…defeat? Sam pulled a face, recoiling from the sight. What was going on? Dean didn't give up. Never. He didn't know how to submit, didn't understand the meaning of the word. So what was happening in Dean's head that would force him to now?

Sam's brows pinched together in a deep frown and he couldn't stop himself.

"You alright?" His voice was low and even. It did not betray the uneasiness he felt watching his brother fight with his hallucinations; if that's what they truly were.

Dean did not lift his head, but from beneath long dark eyelashes he made firm eye contact with his brother. He considered his options, quickly devising a plan.

"Feeling…anemic," hoping Sam would cotton on to his meaning. He needn't worry. He and Sam had been in sync since childhood; symbiotic, almost to the point that Sam could read Dean's thoughts as though they were his own. Both brothers turned very slowly to look in direction of the fireplace. "Cold too," Deanadded.

"I could add more wood," Sam offered, acknowledging the low fire. Dean nodded.

"Oak…would be…good," Dean replied, his words were slow and deliberate, asking Sam for the same.

Sam dipped his head once, and peeled himself away from the wall, taking measured steps towards the fireplace, being careful not to wake Bobby as well as keeping a close eye on Dean, looking for signs and instructions from his older brother.

Dean watched Sam cautiously make his way to the fireplace. If he didn't know better, Dean would have assumed that the youngest Winchester could see the gnomes as well, as he already maneuvered his way around two of the little bastards. But of course Dean did know better. He knew that Sam was just following Dean's subconscious directions.

Behind him, the Gnome King shifted uneasily, studying the back and forth going on between the brothers. But for reasons unknown to Dean, it held off on the attack.

Dean held his breath as Sam knelt down beside the fireplace and picked a log off the top of the short stack.

"Just one?" he grabbed up a piece of White Ash from the pile and waved it at Dean, glancing at Bobby's oak desk and asking a completely different question.

"One right in the middle," was Dean's tense reply, casting a quick glance at Bobby and then back to Sam who had been joined by a curious little gnome.

It stood beside him with its head tilted inquisitively. It leaned in to get a good look at Sam's face and then turned to look into the fire, like it was trying to puzzle out what Sam was doing.

Sam, of course, being unable to see it, did not realize that as he shoved the big chunk of wood into the fire, he had also inadvertently knocked the creature head first into the fireplace.

Dean's eyes widened in shock, following the little gnome as it scrambled from the flames, screaming, and tore across the room, a flash of fire and ash raining down behind it.

All the other gnomes also stopped, frozen in place watching the scene; a wave of faces turning as one to watch the blazing gnome screech out of the room.

There was a pause in all movement and sound; the silence before the storm and it seized Dean in panic.

Bobby groaned, waking from his bent over position on the desk to find the man frozen in fear. "What's…"

But in Dean's head, Bobby's voice was drowned out by the ear splitting scream of the Gnome King, signaling the attack. Dean couldn't help but tuck his head when a chorus of gnome cries answered back, the air shimmering with the volume of it.

"Now would be good, Sam," Dean shouted over the din in his head, throwing himself up and out of the chair and away from the clawing hands of the king.

At Dean's sudden escape, Bobby sat up in surprise, shocked when an iron fire poker sailed past his head into Dean's awaiting hand. And then not a second later, he jumped back when the same metal rod came crashing down into the center of his desk, mere inches from where he'd just been sleeping.

"Dean!" Bobby bellowed, one hand gripping the arm of desk chair, the other gripping dramatically at his chest.

But Dean wasn't about to stop. No sooner had the iron connected with the desk, and then he was ripping it down the length, taking out four more of the rampaging beasts.

"What do I do?" Sam shouted. His head tilted for a moment while he considered his reasons for shouting in what was virtually a quiet room. The only noise at that point in time was Bobby's heaving, panicked breathing and the whistle of Dean's iron rod being swung at full speed through the air.

"You swing!" Dean answered back as he continued his own assault. All lined up on a group of three scurrying toward him, Dean lowered one end of the poker to the floor, brought it arching back behind his right shoulder and swung, golf style, knocking all three into the far wall, where they slid to the floor unconscious.

"Where, Dean?"

"Everywhere, Sam!"

"How many?"

"Too many, now shut up and batter up!"

"Will you two knock it off?" Bobby interrupted, dodging out of Sam's way when all of a sudden the youngest man decided to get into the act. "Stop, ya idjits! There's no such thing as," he ducked Dean's baseball swing just in time, "gnomes! No! Not my…arghhhh," Bobby groaned as a three hundred year old Hoodoo binding urn exploded beneath the weight of Sam's iron. The younger hunter muttered a low and hurried apology, but kept brandishing the deadly iron around the room, not really understanding what, if anything he was accomplishing.

"You, com'ere," Dean commanded, grabbing Bobby firmly around the upper arm and dragging him out of Sam's line of fire. He pushed the older hunter behind him, using his own body as a shield between Bobby and dozen or more gnomes circling at their feet. "Aim lower, Sammy!"

Sam adjusted the downward angle of his iron and took aim at empty space, flushing with both embarrassment and exertion.

"Am I hitting anything?"

"Doin' beautiful," Dean grinned up at him. He lowered a look to the center of the library floor where a rather vicious looking gnome was sizing Dean up. "Okay, ya lil prick, bring it!

It snarled once then charged at him.

"Fore!" Dean brought the business end of the fire poker down in a sweeping arch, catching the gnome dead center in the chest and lifted it high. But the powerful monster held on and as Dean brought the long iron over his shoulder, the weight of it knocked him off balance and the iron was pulled free and knocked across the room, sliding beneath the sofa. Dean stared down into his empty hands in surprise. "Crap."

Sam had been flailing his iron weapon wildly, but truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing or if he was even accomplishing anything. For that matter, was there even anything to really accomplish. This is so messed up, he thought, but somehow he was unable to distrust Dean's instincts.

Hearing the heavy metal clang against the floor, Sam stopped what he was doing to find Dean weaponless. Sam looked to his brother for instruction, unsure how he should refocus his own attack.

"Dean?"

"Protect Bobby."

Sam nodded, quickly swapped places with Dean, the two of them moving like a well oiled cog, Dean now using his fists and well-placed kicks to defend against the attackers.

"Are you outta your ever-lovin' mind?" Bobby whispered harshly, jabbing two thick fingers into the back of Sam's shoulder and spinning him around. "Why are you playin' along with this? Encouraging him?"

"What if he's right?"

"Oh, so you have lost your mind!"

Dean was too busy devising a plan to deal with the wild horde of gnomes to notice the argument between the men going on behind him. He considered upending the sofa to get his fire iron, but the Gnome King still maintained its advantage there, surrounded by a protective guard. It seemed that no matter which way Dean turned a handful of gnomes were advancing on him. The iron had worked in keeping them at bay, but he had yet to put one down completely. He needed to get in closer. He needed that iron knife of Bobby's.

With a deciding nod, Dean got a running start, leapt and did a near perfect Luke Duke slide across the surface of Bobby's desk, sending debris flying in his wake. His landing, however, left much to be desired. Dean slid off the edge of the desk, crashing ass first into Bobby's castored chair, a tangle of limbs following after. He scrambled to his knees, knocking the chair rolling and smashing into the two gnomes who were just rounding the corner of the oak desk.

Dean dove into the top drawer of the desk, pulling and tearing things out of it with desperate haste; hunting for the iron blade he knew was hidden there. He found it when the knife's sharp edge sliced into the meaty flesh of his palm. Biting back a wince of pain, he wrapped his hand around the handle and pulled it free with a proud, "Aha!"

His elation was short lived, however, as he was promptly attacked by a rather robust gnome who had managed to clamber its way on top of the desk. It leapt from the desktop, landing square on Dean's face and muffling his cry of "Sonuvabitch" as together, they toppled to the floor.

Using the momentum of the fall, Dean rolled on top of the round little monster. He peeled it from around his face, yowling as the gnome refused to relinquish its hold on his hair. Dean pressed it into the floor, pinning it there with his knees, focusing all of his body weight down his legs. He took the knife in both hands and plunged it down in the chest of the struggling gnome. It cried out, gurgled around blood, shaking in the throes of death and collapsed.

Wasting no time, Dean pulled the knife free and was surprised. Not by the sucking sound of blood soaked flesh popping around the blade, no he was surprised that once the iron was free, the gnome burst in an explosion of glittery dust and light.

"What the Hell?"

But he had no time to ponder as all the gnomes had focused their attentions on Dean and were galloping sideways from every direction at him.

Dean jumped free of the desk out into the center of the room, scattering the gnomes in his path. Then because he needed to get down on their level to fight properly, Dean knelt on one knee. Knife in one hand, his other outstretched in an invitation.

"Come on ya little goblins, let's do this," he growled.

Bobby had a hand fisted in Sam's over shirt pulling him in aggressively, trying to pour on the fatherly intimidation, while Sam attempted to press Bobby away and still maintain a defense against the would-be invisible gnomes. But both men came to a halt, dumbfounded, when Dean let loose a warrior's cry and started hacking and slashing at all the space in a three foot radius around himself,bellowing, "I'LL," thrust, "KILL," slash, "EVERY," stab, "LAST," hack, "ONE," jab, "OF YOU MOTHER…"

"There goes the neighborhood," Bobby groaned and they both flinched as Dean let the curse fly and then again a few minutes later when Dean fell to his hands and knees, near the point of exhaustion. But he quickly waved them off, sitting back on his knees, the remaining gnomes scattering away from him in fear.

Before him stood the Gnome King looking genuinely surprised by the turn of events. It jumped down from the sofa causing Dean to tense in anticipation.

"I'm not letting you walk outta here," Dean said firmly, his lip curled in controlled rage, the gnome mirroring his look.

It flexed its clawed hands, a threatening display of the weapons it possessed. Dean did the same, spinning the knife until it was turned around and held in Dean's hand, his fists raised, ready to jab like a boxer. It was a ridiculous scene. Even on his knees, Dean towered over the miniature monster, but at least this way he was on it's level, able to defend any attack. And the attack was immediate.

Without warning the Gnome King rushed Dean. Faster than the hunter expected, the gnome was on him and they were toppling backwards into the rug covered floor, Dean's legs trapped beneath him. Try as he might, Dean could not gain complete control of the situation, the knife held precariously between them and the gnome surprisingly strong.

After a minute's struggle, Dean was finally able to kick his legs free and in a swift motion, had them turned over and the knife sunk home, deep into the Gnome King's chest. It looked down at the fatal wound, then glared angrily back up at Dean, who gave the knife a violent twist and yanked it free, collapsing into the glittery burst as the gnome exploded with a savage cry.

Dean unfolded himself from the floor, coming to stand unsteadily, his chest heaving and his throat convulsively swallowing the bile he felt rising.

For a long moment, Sam and Bobby stood staring, completely astonished., unsure of what they'd just witnessed. Bobby was the first to break out of the fog, determined to take back control of the unstable situation.

"Give me the knife, Dean." his voice low and gentle.

Cautiously, Bobby stepped in front of the older Winchester, approaching with his hands open and non-threatening. When Dean didn't flinch or shy away, Bobby slowly lowered his hands to carefully grip the man's arms, sliding a hand down over the knife handle. Dean followed the movement and then, as if Bobby's touch had doused him in cool water, he took an awakening breath; his eyes finding Bobby's.

"Let go, Son. S'okay, I got it, you just let go."

Dean released the knife, pulling his hand away quickly like he'd been stung by the weapon. Crossing his arms, Dean tucked both hands beneath his arms and shivered visibly. Sam was beside him instantly, wrapping his arm protectively around Dean's back and pulling him into Sam's side. Dean didn't bother to shake him off.

"Hey," Sam nudged softly, "Y'alright?"

The responding head nod was subtle but definite.

"No more gnomes?"

Dean shook his head, remaining quiet.

"How 'bout a beer?"

"Whiskey?" Dean asked, turning an anxious face up to his brother.

"Absolutely," Sam nodded, pulling Dean away from the disastrous library, furniture overturned, books, papers, glass and clay shards scattered everywhere.

Bobby shook his head at the disaster. He sheathed the knife at his waist before joining the boys in the kitchen. Whiskey was a necessity at this point.

 

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Bobby poured the last of the Jack Daniels into his glass, sealing the empty bottle with a quick twist of the cap before setting it firmly on the kitchen counter. He lifted the glass to his mouth, looking out over the rim at the boys in the next room. The youngest, sitting loosely on the sofa, his head hanging, shoulders falling in fatigue. Bobby nodded in silent agreement when Sam shifted his weight to lean back into the cushions.

Dean wasn't to be settled as easily. The older brother slowly paced the floor, rolling his neck and shoulders, trying to work the surplus energy from his limbs. This, Bobby knew, was how Dean always was after a hunt, often needing extra time to calm down.

Bobby admitted that he hadn't been much help in that department earlier. As soon as he had entered the kitchen, Bobby had lit into both Sam and Dean about the night's hallucination inspired escapades. Chewing Sam up and down for playing along with and encouraging Dean's delusions. Berating Dean for letting those same delusions run away with him and drilling home the fact that 'Gnomes don't exist, ya idjit!'.

Looking back, he felt a little foolish. He'd used words like, 'not in my house' and 'I don't care who started it'. Bobby knew he wasn't the boys' daddy, but that didn't stop them from bowing their heads sheepishly and answering in unison the way they'd always done with John.

He took another drink, watching Dean turn and make his way back across the library floor, before Bobby himself turned back into the kitchen to give the young man some privacy to work the energy out of his system.

The house had been quiet now for a good two hours and Dean could feel the tension slowly draining from his body. He clasped his hands together, cracking his knuckles and then shook them loose, letting the movement travel up his arms and down his chest. His entire body ached from a day full of activity and conflict and he wished for nothing more than to be able to settle down like Sam and let sleep wash away all these feelings. Dean took a deep inhalation, attempting to exercise his inner demons through controlled breathing.

But then a slight movement caught his attention and Dean's eyes flicked to the sofa back and then widened in genuine surprise.

There, working its way down the length of the couch was a tiny little gnome and for a split second, anxiety permeated Dean's mind. He'd been so sure they were all gone. He had slowly been coming down from the adrenaline high, only to have it come pouring back into his blood stream at the sight of a single gnome.

Smaller even than the king had been, this gnome also seemed to be younger. All of its attention was focused on Sam and Dean could just barely make out its excited chattering about earwax as it approached Sam.

His brother was leaned back into the sofa, not asleep, just resting his head against the back, an arm draped over tired eyes. He didn't feel the slight dip in the upholstery as the gnome got closer, didn't hear its constant gibberish. Sam didn't notice a lot, including Dean approaching with an open hand raised high in the air, ready to strike out at the little monster that stalked the younger Winchester.

The floor board creaked beneath Dean's boot and both Sam and the gnome peeked up in time to see Dean take action. The gnome squeaked and dove off the back of the sofa a split second before Dean's hand connected with it. Missing his mark, Dean was unable to stop the downward motion and his open palm collided with the side of Sam's head with a resounding pop.

Sam's hand flew to his ear and he jumped up, the top of his head connecting squarely with Dean mouth and nose. "Son of a…" Dean cried.

"Bitch!" Sam finished, wobbling.

Both men fell backward, Sam to the sofa and Dean to the floor, each cradling his own specific injuries.

"Boys?" Bobby's voice echoed from the kitchen.

He downed the glass of whiskey, setting it aside and hurried back into the library.

"Geroff," Sam slurred, feeling suddenly woozy. He kicked his legs weakly when Dean grabbed a hold of Sam's pant leg, using his brother to climb his way back to his feet.

Dean glared over the hand he held cupped over his face, trying to contain the blood. Then he collapsed on the sofa beside Sam, tilting his head back to stem the flood from his nose.

"What the Hell happened?" Bobby growled at them with his hands on his hips, taking in their appearances.

As a wave of a nausea swept through him, Sam closed his eyes, groaning, "He hit me."

"Again?" Bobby fixed Dean with a disapproving look , "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry," Dean cried. "It was an accident. There was a…"

"So help me," Bobby interrupted, "if you say there was a gnome, I'll knock you upside your fool head, myself. What am I gonna have to do, lock you in a closet?"

"No."

Dean had the decency to shrink back into himself, pulling his knees up to his chest. The man looked miserable and for a moment Bobby felt the sharp sting of guilt. It was obvious Dean hadn't returned to his senses yet, but neither could they continue to allow him to be such a dangerous nuisance. Bobby quickly turned his attention to the younger of the brothers, not wanting to witness the emotional breakdown that Dean was now fighting.

"Sam? Can you open your eyes for me?"

Sam tried. He pried them open and instantly regretted it, groaning again as the room zoomed quickly by, his eyes spinning beneath heavy lids. The man's eyes didn't appear to be dilated, but Bobby caught the rapid eye motion and had a good idea what had happened.

"S'okay, Sam. Close your eyes if that helps. The vertigo will pass…I hope. You got pain? Gonna be sick?"

Sam raised his hand, rocking it side to side in a 'so-so' gesture and then pointed toward his ear. Bobby leaned in close, tilting Sam's head carefully toward the light.

"I don't see any fluid, but I'm still gonna hazard a guess and say you gotta ruptured eardrum."

Bobby left the room and busied himself in the kitchen only to reappear a minute later with two wet wash clothes. He placed the first warm cloth against Sam's neck, just below his ear, securing it there by placing Sam's own hand against the cloth. He brushed an affectionate hand through the kid's hair, garnering him a weak smile. "You just sit still, but let me know if you're gonna get sick. I'll get this place squared."

"I can help," Dean offered, unwinding the human knot he was in.

"No, you stay put. We're all safer if you just sit on your hands."

Dean sunk back into himself, pouting.

"Oh, untwist your panties," Bobby admonished. He took a seat on the sofa arm next to the younger man and pulled Dean's hand away from his nose. The bleeding had stopped, but Dean was now sporting two lightly blackened eyes. Tilting Dean's chin up, Bobby began carefully wiping away the drying blood, Dean submitting completely to the attention. Bobby stopped briefly when he felt Dean's eyes locked on him, willing Bobby to meet his gaze. The sad look tugged at the older hunter's heart and he was reminded that this man, this boy really, was still very much in need of approval.

"You're fine, Kid. Quit worryin'."

He gave the back of Dean's neck a firm squeeze and finished clearing away the blood.

"Get some rest. Things'll look better in the mornin'. Promise."

Bobby made his way around the room picking up and straightening everything that had been knocked loose in Dean's 'gnome raid'.

It was three o'clock in the morning before Bobby was satisfied that the house was safe, quiet and secure. He finished a note in his hunter's journal, swallowed the last swig from his glass and turned off the kitchen light before passing through the library. He stopped to regard the boys, passed out with exhaustion from the longest day in his recent memory. Bobby's head ticked to the side in thought, trying to put a finger on the noticeable difference.

Sam was leaned into his brother, his sore ear tucked in against the warmth of Dean's chest, which Bobby knew right away was a comfort against the pain. Dean's arm was slung around Sam's shoulders, his hand resting in the length of his brother's hair and his chin resting against Sam's head. And then it clicked.

Sometime between chaos and silence, things had gone back to normal. Dean had gone from being a 24 hour victim of terrible circumstance to his rightful place as protective older brother.

A warm smile graced the tired features of Bobby Singer.

"Gnomes," he chuckled softly, turning out the hallway light before trudging up the stairs, never knowing that beneath the sofa sat a solitary young gnome trembling, in fear of discovery.

 

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Epilogue:

It was a cool feeling of loss that woke Dean. He stretched, feeling sore muscles pull throughout his entire body, but it was the yawn that brought on the sharp pain of a broken nose and busted lip, that had Dean sitting quickly. An entire day's memories flooded back and he turned quickly in search of Sam.

His brother was sitting beside him, rubbing slow circles into the side of his neck. It was obvious to Dean that he'd just woken up too.

"How's your ear?" Dean asked carefully.

"I'll live," Sam answered sourly, his voice gravelly with sleep. "How's your nose?"

"Hurts like a sonuvabitch. Can't breathe." Dean snuffled to demonstrate, cringing when pain flared across the palate of his mouth.

Both men slouched back into sofa, suffering their individual pains. Dean was the first to move again, turning his head in his brother's direction.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Not just for the ear, but for everything."

Sam's head rolled slowly toward Dean, his eyes shut while he waited for his equilibrium to catch back up with the movement.

"It was a lot for me to put on you…and Bobby. I just…"

"Hey," Sam interrupted. "I know, okay? S'alright. Already told you, Dean. You're as much my responsibility as I am yours. Brother's Keeper and all that. Okay?"

Dean swallowed hard, nodding. It didn't make his actions in the last twenty-four hours disappear, but it helped to lessen the guilt a bit, knowing that Sam didn't begrudge him those actions.

"You smell coffee?"

"Dude," Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, "I can't smell anything right now."

"Hey!" Bobby hollered from the kitchen. "If you two are done with the hand holding', you can get in here and give me a little help."

The boys frowned at each other, Sam's eyebrows lifting high into his hairline. Dean shrugged and pushed himself to his feet, then turned to offer his hand to his brother. Sam eyed it once before reaching out cautiously and accepting the help up. Afraid of what they'd find, they walked slowly into the kitchen, Dean's hand beneath Sam's elbow, steadying him.

"Whatcha doing there, Bobby?" Dean asked nervously.

Bobby turned away from the counter, a Sharpie marker held between his teeth, grinning.

"You back to your usual self? We all through with the crazies?"

"Yea, pretty sure," Dean answered, shakily.

"Good, pull up a seat."

Bobby strode around them and slapped something down on the table. Sam lowered himself into a chair, looking at the materials, curiously. He lifted a sheet of paper only to discover that it wasn't paper at all, but address labels.

"What are we doing?"

"We…are labeling everything in the house. You can start here," Bobby added, placing a white jar on the table.

Dean set a cup of coffee down in front of Sam and then took a seat across from him, nursing his own steaming cup.

"What's this?" Dean asked, lifting the jar lid to eye the white crystals within.

Bobby couldn't keep the small smile from playing across his face when he answered, "Sugar."

**Author's Note:**

> Now...leave my your thoughts. Feed this monster....please.


End file.
